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“JERKY CKOSSPU) HIS PRECARIOUS BRIDGE 


WHA T 
ROBIN DID 
THEN 


"The Story of a Sierran Home 

BT 

MARIAN WARNER WILBMAN 



BOSTON 

DANA ESrES & COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 



jUBHARY of congress] 
Iwo Oooles RoceJvad 

AU6 22 I90r 

CoDvneht Entry 
/jac/ iz 
I CUSS A 

/SsnQ 

COPY ll. 


Copyright, igoy 
By Dana Estes & Company 


All rights reserved 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 



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Electrotyped and Printed by The Sparrell Print 
Boston, Mass., U.S. A. 


T^o My Brother and Sister 


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Contents 


CHAPTER page 

I. North Winds 

II. “Westward Ho!” 25 

III. Enter Tom Quartz 31 

IV. Maggie 48 

V. The Robin’s Nest 59 

VI. Ping-pong and Sunshine 6S 

VII. The Sturtevandt Pride 80 

VIII. Home-making 90 

IX. “Windfall” 99 

X. Jerry goes Prospecting 108 

XI. And MAKES A Strike . , 115 

XII. What Robin did Then 126 

XIII. At Twenty Rattles 141 

XIV. Jerry, the Irresponsible 152 

XV. The Fall of the Sturtevandt Pride . . .164 

.XVI. A Home Flight 173 

XVII. How September turned to May .... 182 

XVIII. A Picnic and an Uninvited Guest . . .191 

XIX. Trump justifies His Name 202 

XX. Autumn Days and Evenings .... 209 

XXI. Larry enters the Robin’s Nest .... 224 

XXII. A Mystery Explained 235 

XXIII. A Happy Ending to a Sorrowful Tale . . 248 

XXIV. A Chapter of Surprises 257 

XXV, In the Light of the Pitch-pine Fire . . .272 


« 


* 


List of 111 ustrations 


PAGE 

“Jerry crossed his precarious bridge.” (See 

page 106) ....... Frontispiece ' 

“ The three orphans stood there, just where 

HARD-HEARTED LARRY HAD DROPPED THEM ” . 37 

“ One BEAUTIFUL THING AFTER ANOTHER EMERGED 

FROM THE ENCHANTED TRUNK ” . . . 53 

“ With Master Pig in hi^ arms, he departed ” . 83 

“ John Forest, with his tripod on his shoulder, 

STOOD WAITING TO SPEAK TO HER ” . . . 138 

“ There she stood, quite still ” . . . . 195 

“ ‘ AVhy, Mr. Jukes!’ cried Robin, ‘is it you?’” 215 *' 
“ ‘ Gold I gold ! gold ! ’ he breathed exultantly 


. 220 


IN HER EAR 





/ 


What Robin Did Then 


CHAPTER I 

NORTH WINDS 

‘‘One — two — three — four — five!’’ counted 
Jerry, as the little bronze clock struck the hour. “ Five 
o’clock, and Robin isn’t here yet! She must find 
Mr. Smedley and his stuffy old office mighty 
pleasant.” 

Don glanced out of the window. The winter 
night was fast setting in, dark and gloomy. It had 
been snowing in a wet, rainy fashion all the after- 
noon, and the sidewalks would be slushy and dis- 
agreeable enough. 

“Did Robin wear her overshoes, Jerry?” 

“Don’t believe so. It was sunny when she left 
this morning.” 

“Guess I’ll run down with them and meet her. 
It’s a nasty evening.” 

“Let me go!” yawned indolent Jerry, curling up 
more snugly than ever in the big sleepy-hollow 
chair. 

“Oh, no — I’ll have pity on your tender youth! 

11 


12 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


But I say, Jerry, stir your old bones and freshen up 
a bit before we get here. She’ll be tired to death, 
anyway, and this room looks like — like — I’m sure 
I don’t know what it does look like!” finished Don, 
helplessly. 

“Like a room in which you and I have kept house 
for just one day,” suggested Jerry. “Run along, 
Donnie — I’ll do the parlor-maid act.” 

The front door of Mrs. Perry’s select family 
boarding establishment had closed behind Don 
with a boyish slam before Jerry began to untwist 
the long legs that had been stowed away under him 
in a wonderful fashion of his own. Once up, how- 
ever, he stirred about with considerable energy, 
regulating furniture, tossing newspapers and maga- 
zines into the closet, and kicking various and sundry 
“traps” into the dark seclusion of the corner behind 
the sofa. He poked the grate fire and put on a big 
chunk of soft coal, which blazed and sputtered 
cheerfully. He brushed the hearth and lighted the 
gas. Finally he brought a pair of worn little slip- 
pers and a pretty red dressing-gown from the ad- 
joining bedroom and put them by the fire to warm 
for Robin. 

“Nice little sis!” remarked Jerry aloud, patting 
the red gown affectionately. Then, with a huge 
sigh of relief and conscious virtue, he sank into his 
chair and reached for his book. While he is absorbed 
in “The Last of the Mohicans,” suppose we slip 
downstairs and follow Don. 


NORTH WINDS 


13 


Brrrr — what a cold night it is! The damp chill 
strikes straight to one’s bones. The lights of the 
city street are duplicated everywhere on the wet, 
black pavement. The snow is still falling, but the 
flakes are dry and fine, and the moisture is freezing 
treacherously underfoot. 

Don turned up his coat collar and thrust his hands 
into his pockets as he trudged down the street, ever 
on the lookout for his sister among the crowds of 
hurrying people he met. 

Just as he was turning into the vestibule of the 
building that held the law offices of Smedley and 
Smedley, he heard a brisk “Good night. Miss 
Roberta!” above, and then the sound of light steps 
coming down the marble stairs. Stepping back out 
of sight, he began to sing softly: — 


“ ‘The north winds do blow, 

And we shall have snow, 

And what will poor Robin — ’ ’’ 

but that is as far as he got, for a quickly stifled little 
sob caught his ear and stopped the teasing words 
on his lips. 

“ Oh, Don, how good of you to come!” cried Robin, 
trying to speak very cheerfully. “And my rubbers! 
I’d quite forgotten I didn’t have them. Hasn’t it 
been a horrid day? What have you and Jerry been 
doing?” 

She talked bravely all the time Don was putting 


14 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


on her overshoes and throwing about her shoulders 
the golf cape he had brought. But she failed to 
make him forget. 

‘‘What were you crying about?” he asked sternly, 
as soon as they were on the street together. 

“Don’t ask me now, Don, dear! I’ll tell you all 
about it to-night when I’ve had my supper and 
rested a bit. I’m so tired!” 

“Poor little sister!” and Don drew Robin’s mit- 
tened hand protectingly under his arm; “I’ll not 
ask a question till you say the word.” 

Robin looked up at him gratefully, feeling, as she 
often did, that her sixteen-year-old brother was older 
than she instead of three years her junior. Jerry 
was her boy, her dear, jolly, light-hearted, lazy, 
larky boy; but it was on Don that she had learned to 
lean since their father’s death, some weeks before. 
As for both Don and Jerry, there was no one in the 
world to them like Robin, big sister and merry com- 
rade in all the frolics of an unusually happy child- 
hood ; comforter and home maker when they were left 
motherless; and truest friend and confidante now 
that the three were quite alone in the world, save for 
each other. 

“Run on upstairs. Sis,” said Don, as he followed 
her into the dimly lighted hallway of Mrs. Perry’s 
establishment. “I’m going to ask if we can’t have 
our supper in our own room.” 

“It isn’t necessary, Don,” protested Robin, “and 
you know how cross it always makes her.” 


NORTH WINDS 


15 


‘‘Do you think I^m afraid of any woman’s cross- 
ness?” asked superior Don. “Guess I know how 
to manage her all right!” 

And manage her he did, by a little judicious 
wheedling, pathetic references to Robin’s weariness, 
and a handsome offer to sweep all her walks next 
morning if it should have snowed enough over night 
to make sweeping necessary. A half-hour later he 
appeared at the door of the little parlor with triumph 
on his face and a huge tray in his hands. 

“Clear the decks for action!” he shouted, which 
order Jerry proceeded to obey by summarily dump- 
ing the contents of the table into the lap of the sofa. 
Don deposited his burden carefully, while Jerry 
eyed the tray with suspicion. 

“Steak just warmed through, and potatoes fried 
to charcoal! Wish I had the running of this con- 
founded boarding-house! You seem to find my 
remark very amusing,” he added with freezing 
dignity, in reply to Don’s hoot of derision; “but just 
you wait and see! I can’t uncook the potatoes, 
but I will cook the steak.” 

“Shall we let him spoil our supper for us, Robin?” 
objected Don. 

“He can’t make it much worse than it is. That 
steak is pretty raw.” 

“ It averages better with the potatoes as it is now. 
I say, Jerry, what are you going to do when that 
string catches fire?” 

But Jerry was too much engrossed to listen. First 


16 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


he securely fastened a fork to the end of the poker 
by means of a bit of cord. Then he cut the meat 
into three pieces and thrust one of them upon his 
improvised broiler. Robin and Don looked on with 
interest as the juicy morsel sputtered and browned 
deliciously over the red coals. 

‘‘There!” declared Jerry, at last, breaking his 
stony silence as he withdrew the smoking meat and 
examined it lovingly. “Just one more sizzle and 
it’s done, not too rare and not too ” 

Alas and alas! The one more sizzle proved to be 
one sizzle too many, for the string which held the 
fork and poker together concluded to sizzle too, and 
the next Jerry knew, there was a great hissing and 
blazing in the grate, and he was holding a forkless 
and meatless poker over the coals. 

“I told you so!” cried Don, meanly, seizing the 
tongs and rushing to the rescue. He managed to 
save Mrs. Perry’s fork before it was quite melted, 
but the meat was only a melancholy cinder when he 
held it aloft, and a most unsavory odor filled the 
room. 

“Never mind,” said Robin, smiling into Jerry’s 
mournfully surprised face. “There are two pieces 
left, and we can fill up on bread and butter and tea. 
We must hurry, too,” she added, “for I’ve a number 
of things to talk over with my boys to-night. ” Her 
face had grown suddenly very sober, and Don 
remembered the little sob he had heard on the 
stairway. Even Jerry felt that there was trouble 


NORTH WINDS 


17 


in the air and looked anxiously from Don’s puzzled 
face to Robin’s grave one. 

The unappetizing meal was eaten in silence, and 
it was a relief to all three when the tray, safely 
deposited in the dumb-waiter, had descended to 
Mrs. Perry’s kitchen. 

‘‘Now let’s hear the worst and have it over!” 
said Don, settling Robin comfortably in the sleepy- 
hollow chair, and placing a hassock for himself at 
her feet. Jerry reclined on the sofa, luxuriously 
surrounded by pillows and afghans. Outside, the 
shutters were rattling in the rising wind, and every 
now and then there came a gusty dash of sleet against 
the window. Within, for a little while there was 
silence, except for the murmur of the fire and the 
ticking of the little bronze clock. Then Robin 
began. 

“Do you think you would mind very, very much 
if we were poor?” 

“iJoT^^poor?” asked Jerry, discreetly. 

“ So it’s money that’s bothering you, is it ? How 
bad is it, Robin? If you can stand it, I guess we 
can!” and Don smiled up at his sister. 

“It’s pretty bad.” 

“Will Don and I have to give up college?” asked 
Jerry, with poorly concealed eagerness. The others 
laughed in spite of themselves, for Jerry was a 
notoriously sorry failure as a student of any more 
difficult books than those of Cooper and Scott, 
Kirk Munro and Captain Mayne Reid. 


18 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


afraid it means giving up college and a good 
deal more, Jerry. It means — oh, I may as well 
blurt it out at once, though Mr. Smedley took hours 
to break it to me! We haven't a thing in the world 
except five hundred dollars in the Central National, 
and a worthless bit of real estate somewhere in 
California, thousands of miles away. Mr. Smedley 
has investigated that enough to know that we couldn't 
sell it if we tried; or, if we could, that it would bring 
almost nothing. " 

‘‘But, Robin," began Jerry, staring at her with 
his dark eyes very wide open, “what's become of 
our money? We've always had plenty. Has some 
bank busted or something?" 

“No, dear, no bank has ‘busted,' nor has any 
one robbed us. It's a long story, but a perfectly 
simple one. " 

“I see it all now," put in Don, slowly. “I see it 
now, though I've been such an idiot that I've never 
thought much about it before. Father's long sick- 
ness, and our coming to the city to be near the good 
doctors, and all our expenses going on without a 
penny being earned — oh, it's plain enough! Why 
didn't you tell us how things were going, Robin? 
Jerry and I could have left high school and done 
something to help. You oughtn't to have stood 
all of the worry alone." 

“I didn't know myself how bad it was, Don. 
Indeed, Mr. Smedley himself says he has hoped that 
when the estate was settled something more would 


NORTH WINDS 


19 


be left. But there were stocks that had lost their 
value, and taxes that hadn’t been paid, and 
accounts that had stood so long they couldn’t be 
collected. You know papa was always too kind to 
make people pay him if they were ever so little hard 
up.” 

guess the truth of it is that a splendid doctor 
isn’t likely to be a very good business man,” said 
Don. “How about debts, Robin?” 

“They are all paid. I told Mr. Smedley to see 
that that was done, whether there was anything left 
or not. That’s what father would have wanted us 
to do. I knew we could get along some way.” 

“Of course!” cried Jerry, heartily. “You’re a 
brick, Robin, and Don and I will stand by you to the 
last! I’ll leave school to-morrow and find a place, 
and ” 

“As to-morrow is Sunday I think I’d wait, dear. 
And I don’t mean that you and Don shall give up 
school unless it becomes quite necessary.” 

“But, Robin,” said Don, who had been thinking 
hard, “we can’t live more than a few months on the 
little money we have. We’ll have to pitch in and 
earn some!” 

“I had thought that I might get music pupils, for 
one thing.” 

“What you could earn that way wouldn’t pay 
Mrs. Perry, even, let alone clothes and car fares 
and things.” 

“I know, Don; and I think we ought to find a 


20 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


cheaper place to board. We could, you know. Or 
perhaps we might find two or three rooms some- 
where and do our own cooking. Jerry could broil 
beefsteaks then to his heart’s content!” 

‘^Provided we could afford to keep him supplied,” 
amended Don. ‘H don’t believe keeping house 
would be so very much cheaper, Robin. Rents are 
so high and ” 

‘^Oh, I know it — I know it!” cried poor Robin. 
“Haven’t I been over and over it all in my mind? 
Oh, how I wish we were back in dear old Summer- 
ville, in the home that isn’t ours any more!” 

“If father were there!” said Don, very low, 
stroking his sister’s hand. 

“And Chrissie — good old Chris! Wouldn’t you 
like a hunk of Chrissie’s gingerbread right now, 
Don?” cried Jerry, with melancholy enthusiasm. 

Please stop, boys!” Robin’s voice was full of 
tears. “It never can be any more. Father and 
mother are dead, the old place is sold, and Chrissie 
is gone. All that’s left for us is to be brave and 
hopeful and make a new home for ourselves, here or 
somewhere. So long as we have one another, we 
can get along, can’t we?” 

“As long as Jerry and I have such a good little 
sister we ought to be able to stand most anything. 
But I’m afraid it will be rather hard to make much 
of a home for ourselves here in this big city, with 
five hundred dollars for capital!” 

It was not like Don to speak so gloomily, and 


NORTH WINDS 


21 


Jerry, from his place among the sofa pillows, could 
see the discouraged tears gathering slowly under 
Robin’s long lashes. It was with the sole idea of 
diverting her that he cried cheerfully: — 

have it! Let’s emigrate to California and 
squat on our real estate!” 

The moment he had made this proposition, Jerry 
realized that it was a startlingly attractive one. 

“Why not?” he demanded defiantly, though no 
one had said a word. 

Don looked up at his sister inquiringly. 

“Why not?” he echoed, with suppressed excite- 
ment in his tone. 

“Oh, boys, it’s so far!” 

“We’ve money enough to get there,” replied 
Don. 

“But once there, what would we do?” 

“Strike gold in our back yard, of course,” replied 
Jerry. “They always do in California.” 

“At any rate, there wouldn’t be any rent to pay, 
and we’d be living on our own soil. It would be 
sort of like home. And we could surely get work of 
some kind to do. Where is our property, Robin? 
Are there any buildings on it?” 

After all, Robin was only a girl, and she found 
herself, in spite of her expressed conviction that it 
was all nonsense, growing as interested as the 
boys. 

“It’s a little farm, lying along the banks of the 
Mercedes River, ’way up somewhere in the Sierra 


22 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Nevada foothills. It’s good land if it were culti- 
vated, but scarcely any one does cultivate up there, 
Mr. Smedley says. There’s nothing going on but 
mining. There is one mine close by — 'Twenty 
Rattles’ — did you ever hear such a name?” 

"But what about our place?” recalled Don. 

"Mr. Smedley says some man from San Fran- 
cisco took it out as a homestead claim, and built a 
house to live in. He liked to hunt and fish, and 
spent a good deal of his time there for a few years. 
Then he got tired of it and sold out cheap — he’d got 
his title by that time, you understand. Some eastern 
capitalist bought it up, thinking there might be gold 
along the river bed, but there wasn’t, and so the prop- 
erty was abandoned and left to rack and ruin. Then 
papa got hold of it — I don’t just remember how, but 
Mr. Smedley knows. It had something to do with a 
bad debt and a mortgage. Of course papa never saw 
the place. For a long time he thought nothing 
about it; but about seven or eight years ago a letter 
came to him from an old uncle of his — Jonathan 
Sturtevandt. The letter asked if Uncle Jonathan 
might live on papa’s ranch, paying the taxes as rent. 
Of course papa said yes. He had never seen Uncle 
Jonathan, but he knew about him. He was one of 
the men who went to California in the gold rush of 
forty-nine, and he never came back East. The last 
Mr. Smedley knew of him he was still living on the 
place. Now you know as much as I do.” 

Jerry was sitting up at last, his wavy black hair 


NORTH WINDS 


23 


in rampant disorder from the pillows, and his eyes 
ablaze with excitement. 

“Why, Robin P’ he cried, “it’s the very thing! A 
house and a ranch and an uncle waiting for us, pin- 
ing for us; and you even thought of staying here to 
give music lessons and starve by inches! ‘West- 
ward ho !’ — I say. What’s your opinion, Don?” 

“I’ll admit it sounds terribly jolly, but I suppose 
we ought to consider that while we’ve got money 
enough to take us there, we haven’t enough to bring 
us back. We’d have to stay, willy-nilly.” 

“It will be ‘willy,’ never you fear! Tell him so, 
Robin! Say you want to — I know you do!” 

“ It would be too important a step to decide upon 
recklessly,” said Robin, trying to be very judicious 
and calm. “I might speak to Mr. Smedley.” 

“Oh, bother Mr. Smedley! It’s our money and 
our ranch, and if we want to spend the first getting 
to the second, whose affair is it but ours? Let’s 
decide to-night!” 

It was evident that Jerry was afraid of the sober 
second thought, and wanted to get matters settled 
at once. But Robin stood fast, Don backed her 
nobly, and Jerry was compelled to go grumbling to 
his little hall bedroom with no more satisfaction than 
the assurance that his plan should be considered. 

To avoid the suspense which tortured the poor 
boy for the next few weeks, we will skip the long 
days of planning and doubting and discussing; of 
earnest consultation with the senior partner of 


24 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Smedley and Smedley; of studying overland railway 
guides and searching libraries for books on Cali- 
fornia. The end of the whole matter was as Jerry 
had openly entreated and his brother and sister had 
privately hoped it might be. The Arnold family 
decided to emigrate. And since the little fund of 
money grew smaller with every day they lingered, 
the date of departure was set as near as possible. 
There were various business matters to be settled; a 
week’s visit back in Summerville, the dear old New 
England village that had always been home to Don 
and Jerry and Robin; and then, soon after an unus- 
ually lion-like March had come ramping in, the 
great day arrived. 

Tickets were purchased, trunks were checked, 
good-bys said to their few city acquaintances, and 
then — ‘‘Westward ho!” As the train steamed out 
of the station, the orphans caught a last glimpse of 
kind Mr. Smedley, waving his handkerchief in fare- 
well. Then the friendly flicker vanished. The old 
life lay behind them — the new lay far ahead. 


CHAPTER II 


‘‘westward ho!” 

“I NEVER saw anything like it,” remarked Jerry, 
plaintively. 

“What’s the trouble now?” asked Robin, with- 
drawing her eyes from the fleeting expanse of gray 
desert and smiling at her brother’s puckered face. 

“It’s the seasons. I can’t get them straightened 
out. When we left New York it was winter. When 
we were in Chicago it was just beginning to be spring. 
Then it was winter again on the prairies, and spring 
again at Denver. After Denver we climbed right 
up into January, but when we got to Salt Lake City 
there were orchards in blossom and meadow-larks 
singing like split.” 

“ Only you wouldn’t have known them for meadow- 
larks if you hadn’t seen them. They sounded more 
like bob-o-links, ” put in Don. 

“And here we are now,” Jerry went on, “where it 
doesn’t seem to be any time of year at all. I’m all 
mixed up. I don’t know what year it is, or what 
month, or anything!” 

“You’ll be worse mixed before you reach the 
coast, my boy,” said the pleasant old gentleman 
whose section was opposite theirs. “To-night we’ll 

25 


26 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


be climbing up into January, as you say, again; and 
then, as we go down the west slope of the Sierras 
to-morrow, we’ll pass through February and March, 
April and May, till we reach Sacramento, and there it 
will be June.” 

Jerry groaned, but Robin’s eyes grew dark with 
pleasure. 

You’ve been in California before?” she asked 
the old gentleman. 

“I come every year, just at this season. It’s like 
going down into the Garden of Eden, after the sand 
of the deserts and the snow of the upper Sierras. 
Later it gets terribly dry and dusty and brown, but 
now — well, I shan’t attempt to tell you about it, 
for you’ll see it for yourselves in a few more hours. ” 
And he returned to his newspaper. 

Robin’s eyes turned mechanically to the window 
again, but she was not seeing the desolate stretch of 
sand and sage brush, the patches of white alkali and 
the dim outlines of far-away purple mountain ranges. 
Her fancy had flown ahead to the strange and beau- 
tiful country toward which they were speeding. 
What waited them beyond the snowy barrier of the 
Sierras — happiness or sorrow? Would California 
ever be home? Don and Jerry were too young to 
realize fully how much it meant — this breaking of 
old ties and starting out on a new adventure. There 
were no misgivings in their boyish hearts, and, to 
tell the truth, there was far more of anticipation 
than dread in Robin’s own. 


‘‘WESTWARD HO!” 


27 


That night — the last one of their journey — she 
asked the porter to make her berth early, but not 
because she wanted to sleep. For hours she lay 
looking up at the stars and thinking of many things, 
her heart and brain throbbing with memories and 
hopes and prayers. When at last she fell asleep, it 
was with nothing but peace and courage in her 
breast. 

It was broad morning when Robin awoke. Don 
and Jerry were chatting with trie old gentleman 
across the aisle, and she could hear the porter 
arranging the berth next hers, thumping pillows 
vigorously. 

^Ht must be late!” she said to herself, sitting up 
at once, eager to be dressed and out. 

An hour later she and her brothers were sitting at 
their favorite table in the dining car, eating their 
breakfast between delighted glances out of the win- 
dows. They were high among the Sierras now. 
Deep snow lay all around them and great evergreens 
towered against the vivid blue of the sky. Once 
Jerry gave a cry of delight and called Don and 
Robin to look down at the lovely lake that lay below 
them like a blue jewel in a hollow of the moun- 
tains. 

Let’s go out on the back platform where we can 
see better,” suggested Don. “You’re through, 
aren’t you, Robin?” 

“All but this swallow of coffee. Now I’m ready./ 
— Why, Don!” 


28 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


like that!” exclaimed Jerry. ‘H thought we’d 
got through all our tunnels!” 

‘Ht isn’t a tunnel — there are cracks that show 
the daylight through,” declared Don, much puzzled. 

“Snow sheds, young folks! There are forty odd 
miles of them before you get through,” said a voice 
at the next table — the voice of their friend the 
old gentleman. 

“What are they for?” asked Jerry. 

“To keep the snow from the tracks. Travel 
would frequently be blocked without them, for the 
snowfall is very heavy up here near the summit. 
That lake we just passed is famous as the scene of a 
great tragedy. A party of emigrants were caught 
there in a terrible storm, many years ago, and died 
of starvation. Ah — here we come into the sun- 
shine once more! ” 

But hardly had he spoken when it was dark again. 
For some time the train swung in and out of the 
snow sheds, and our young travelers had to be con- 
tent with only brief and tantalizing glimpses of the 
wild mountain scenery through which they were 
passing. But at length the last shed was left behind 
on the long, winding descent toward the coast. 

Now the seasons began to change with what was 
indeed bewildering rapidity. The snow disap- 
peared. Flowering shrubs and patches of green 
grass softened the rugged mountain slopes. Fruit 
orchards whirled past, pink or white with blossoms. 
Maple and oak leaves seemed larger with every 


WESTWARD HO! 


29 


mile. The air grew so warm that windows were 
thrown wide the length of the car, and every one felt 
the intoxicating influence of this sudden change 
from midwinter to May. At the town of Colfax 
little barefooted boys thronged the station platform 
with bunches of roses and lilacs to sell. 

It was past noon when the train pulled into Sacra- 
mento. Here Robin and her brothers were to 
change to a branch road. Good-bys were said to the 
acquaintances made on the long overland journey, 
hand-luggage was gathered together, and presently 
the three found themselves in the waiting-room 
of the big station. Jerry was left to look after their 
belongings, while Don and Robin hunted up the 
ticket agent to inquire about trains to Minersville. 

‘‘You want to go up to Minersville, do you?’’ 
asked the agent, pleasantly. “Well, you’ve just 
time to make connections with the passenger train 
— there’s only one a day. How many tickets, did 
you say? Three? All right. Where’s the bag- 
gage-room? Right down that way. You’ll have 
just about time to get your trunks re-checked. That’s 
your train over yonder, on the farthest track. Here’s 
your change.” 

“Don, I feel so foolish!” laughed Robin, as they 
hurried away down the long platform. 

“Why?” 

“Look at me!” 

Don looked. “I don’t see anything wrong.” 

“Then look at the young lady just ahead of us.” 


30 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


She’s the one who ought to feel silly. White 
dress and straw hat and parasol in March!’’ 

‘‘ But you must admit she looks more comfortable 
than I do in my winter coat and furs ! ” 

The last fifty miles of their railroad journey proved 
to be the pleasantest of all. The train ran slowly as 
it climbed back into the foothills of the Sierra Neva- 
das from low-lying Sacramento, stopping now and 
then at some little town along the way. The grass 
beside the track was full of wild flowers, all strange 
and new and beautiful, golden poppies, great spikes 
of purple lupine and little yellow pansies. 

^‘Do you suppose they grow like that on our 
ranch?” asked Robin, rapturously. ‘‘Oh, boys, 
we can’t help being happy in such a lovely country! 
Doesn’t it seem a different world from the one we 
were in a week ago?” 

The door of the coach was flung open. 

“Minersville!” cried the brakeman, and the train 
slowed to a stop. 


CHAPTER III 


ENTER TOM QUARTZ 

After so many nights in cramped quarters, the 
rooms of the Minersville hotel seemed quite luxu- 
rious to our travelers. They sought their beds soon 
after an excellent supper, slept delightfully, and 
were astir early the next morning. As soon as they 
had breakfasted the three started out on a tour of 
inspection. 

The air was fresh and balmy. Little linnets 
were singing sweetly in the big poplars that shaded 
the hotel. Roses were in blossom in the dooryards 
they passed, and bits of unoccupied soil were yellow 
with poppies. 

The town itself proved to be a quaint and inter- 
esting little place. The main street followed no 
strictly defined route, but wandered along in a cheer- 
ful, aimless, crooked fashion of its own. It was, as 
they afterward learned, a road with a past. Origi- 
nally it had been the trail that followed the course 
of the rows of prospectors’ tents, back in the days 
when this was one of the famous gold camps of 
California — wild days, full of daring and danger 
and excitement; days of gold-digging and gambling 
and grizzly bears; days when the Vigilance Com- 

31 


32 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


mittee ruled in Minersville — Hangtown it was 
then. 

For some time Robin and Don and Jerry wan- 
dered about, enjoying the lovely weather, the novelty 
of the place, and the feeling of terra jirma once 
more after their long journey. They betrayed their 
eastern origin to the genial clerk of a little drug store 
by asking for “a quarter’s worth” of something 
instead of ^‘two bits’ worth.” They stared curiously 
at some Chinese children they met. Finally they 
strayed into a neat little restaurant and ate their first 
genuine Mexican ^^hot tamales,” fiery and delicious. 

Arriving quite by chance at the post-office, it 
occurred to Don to go in and inquire about the stage 
to Angel Flat — the village nearest their destination. 
To his chagrin he learned that Sandy McDowell,” 
stage-driver to Angel, had left the post-office a short 
half-hour before, and that there would not be another 
stage for three days. 

^^He runs only three times a week,” explained 
the postmaster, politely. ‘'Anyway, the stage would 
take you straight up to Angel Flat, and your place, 
near as I can make out, must be five or six miles 
from there and on the road that runs round by 
Twenty Rattles. You’d better hire a rig and driver 
to take you up. There’s a livery stable down the 
street a way.” 

“Thank you — I guess that’s our only plan,” 
said Don, turning away from the little window. 

“Whar d’ y’u say y’u wanted to go, boy?” asked a 


ENTER TOM QUARTZ 33 

curiously pleasant, though uncultivated voice, behind 
him. 

Don looked around in surprise, and saw a tall, 
spare old man standing by him — a man with face 
and hands reddened and browned by exposure; 
with white mustache and beard, and thick white 
hair; and with remarkably piercing blue eyes, shaded 
by bushy eyebrows that were still quite black. He 
wore a dark woolen shirt, and his trousers were 
tucked into his huge boots. 

‘‘Did y’u say y’u wanted to go up Angel way?’’ 
asked the stranger again. “I’m goin’ up myself in 
an hour or so. Mebby I might take y’u along.” 

“There are three of us,” explained Don, for Jerry 
and Robin were waiting outside. “And we’ve got 
three trunks and no end of little traps besides. Could 
you make room for all that?” 

“Wall, now, I shouldn’t wonder,” drawled the old 
man, in his slow, musical voice. “I’ve got a two- 
seated wagon, an’ thar’s a lot o’ room behind the 
back seat. I come down with some folks that had 
been visitin’ up to Twenty Rattles. It’s the mine’s 
rig I’m drivin’.” 

“Twenty Rattles!” exclaimed Don, delighted. 
“That’s the very place we want to get to — or, 
rather, we want to get to a little farm about two 
miles this side. Maybe you know the place. It 
belonged to my father, but my uncle, a man named 
Sturt evandt, has been ” 

“Sturtevandt!” thundered Don’s new acquaint- 


34 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


ance, so suddenly and in so changed a voice that 
poor Don stared at him in amazement. What a 
startling transformation! The kindly blue eyes 
were flashing fire, and the black brows were drawn 
together in a terrific scowl. 

What on earth have I said ?” wondered Don. 

‘^So y’uhe goin’ to see Johnnie Sturtevandt, be 
y’u? Wall, then, I reckon I’ll not have room for 
any o’ Johnnie Sturtevandt’s kin! Good day to 
y’u!” and the curious old chap turned on his heel 
and strode out from the office, followed by Don’s 
eyes. But just outside the door the tall figure 
stopped short. 

‘‘Wall, now, did y’u ever see anything like that?” 
the old man remarked, quite mildly. “Wall, now!” 

Don, his indignation mastered by his curiosity, 
stepped quickly to the stranger’s side and asked 
what was funny. To his fresh surprise the face 
turned upon him was as serene and cloudless as 
a May morning. 

“Do y’u see that?” 

Don looked where the long finger pointed. Wait- 
ing in front of the post-office was a four-horse team, 
hitched to a high, two-seated, mud-spattered moun- 
tain wagon, cramped to the curb. On the front 
seat of this interesting vehicle sat an immense black 
and white cat, a hero of many bloody fields to judge 
from the nicks and scars on his ears and his wicked 
old face. His back was arched with pleasure just 
now, and a hoarse, wheezy, asthmatic purr reached 


ENTER TOM QUARTZ 


35 


Don’s ear. The reason for his feline majesty’s 
good humor was evident. Robin Arnold, who 
adored cats, was standing tiptoe to stroke his back 
and scratch his extended chin. 

“Wall, now — think o’ that!” ejaculated Don’s 
companion. “Think o’ Tom Quartz lettin’ any 
one touch him like that!” 

“Cats always like Robin. She mesmerizes ’em, 
I guess,” said Don. 

“Robin? Robin? Who’s she?” asked the old 
man, sharply, looking round at the boy. 

“My sister Roberta.” 

“That’s your sister makin’ up to my cat?” 

“Yes, if that’s your cat.” 

Just then there was an explosion of spitting and 
snarling on the wagon seat, and Robin, drawing 
back suddenly, looked ruefully at a long and bloody 
scratch on her gloveless hand. 

“Tom, y’u old sinner! Tom, y’u rattle-snake!” 
shouted Don’s companion, striding across the side- 
walk and fetching Tom Quartz such a cuff that the 
poor cat rolled over backward into the wagon box. 

“Seems to me,” mused Don to himself, “that man 
and his cat are mighty well mated. First they purr 
and then they scratch. Hurt much, Robin?” he 
added aloud. 

“Oh, no, but I was surprised. He acted so 
friendly. I suppose I ought not to have touched 
him,” she said apologetically to Tom’s owner; “but 
he’s such a beauty, and I’m very fond of animals.” 


36 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


^^He’s an ungrateful scamp to turn against the 
hand that showed him kindness/’ said the old man, 
with beautiful courtesy. ‘‘Tom’s temper ain’t 
what it was when he was a kitten. He lived at the 
Twenty Rattles boardin’-house a year, an’ the men 
teased the life out’n him, an’ made him crosser’n 
a grizzly. Then I took him in, an’ he’n I have lived 
together ever since. We suit.” 

“Do you live near the Twenty Rattles Mine?” 
asked Robin, as eagerly as her brother had done. 
“That’s near where we are going, — my brothers 
and I.” 

“Now she’ll catch it!” thought Don, smiling mis- 
chievously; but Tom Quartz’ master continued to 
be a person of surprises. In the most cordial of 
tones he answered Robin, turning to Don also as 
he spoke: — 

“Yes, Missy, I’m just startin’ back to Twenty 
Rattles now, an’ I’d be pleased to take y’u up. I’ll 
ask y’u just a dollar a head, people an’ trunks. It’d 
cost y’u more’n twice that by stage, an’ McDowell’s 
went, anyway.” 

“We’ll be delighted to go with you,” assented 
Don, anxious to clinch the bargain before their 
erratic friend could change his mind. “Our things 
are over at the El Dorado House. It won’t take 
us half an hour to get ready. Where’s Jerry, 
Robin?” 

“Wandered off somewhere. Oh, there he is!” 
as she caught sight of a long-legged figure standing 



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ENTER TOM QUARTZ 


37 


in front of a shop window where a collection of 
geological specimens, crystals and ores, was exhib- 
ited. Don called his brother, and the three climbed 
into the wagon with the now subdued Tom Quartz, 
and were driven back to the hotel. There they spent 
a half-hour collecting their belongings and eating 
a hasty lunch. An hour before noon everything 
was ready, and the final stage of their journey was 
begun. 

The drive from Minersville back into the moun- 
tains was a novel experience for the eastern girl and 
boys. Up hill and down dale went the four sturdy, 
sure-footed horses; but the general tendency of the 
road was all up and up and up. The occasional 
down grades were covered at a breakneck gallop 
that made Robin hold her breath. 

That’s how we make up the time we lose in 
climbinV’ said Larry Jukes, for such they had 
learned was the name of their charioteer. Reckon 
y’u ain’t used to such drivin’ back East! Reckon 
y’ur city horses would go onto their precious noses 
if y’u ran ’em down hill ! Ours is used to it. They 
don’t never stumble. Ho, there, Ben!” he cried, 
flicking one of the leaders with his long whip, and 
turning in his seat to put down the heavy brake. 
‘^Scared, Missy?” he asked, smiling gently at 
Robin’s set face. She was sitting beside him, while 
the boys slid about on the wide back seat, with Tom 
Quartz between them. 

''Oh, no, I’m not scared! I’m just thanking my 


38 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


stars you are such a good driver!” she explained, 
shuddering a bit as she glanced down into the depths 
of a ravine that descended from within a yard of 
their right wheels. 

‘^Y’u needn’t worry — I’ll never spill y’u! Hold 
on tight so’s not to bounce out when we go over a 
Thanky ma’am,’ as y’u call ’em back East.” 

“Did you ever live back East?” asked Jerry. 

“No, sir! But I’ve seen plenty easterners out 
here, an’ heard their talk. I ain’t never been outside 
California in my life. California’s good enough for 
me. I’m a native son.” 

“A what?” queried Jerry. 

“I belong to the ‘Native Sons of California,’ ” said 
Mr. Jukes, with pride. “There ain’t so many fel- 
lows as old as I be that were born an’ brought up 
here — not many pure United States whites, that 
is to say.” 

Jerry looked at the back of the driver’s scarlet 
neck and opened his mouth to say something very 
funny, but wisely concluded that it would be politer 
not to do so. 

“Ever heard of Joaquin Miller, the great poetry- 
writer of these here parts?” asked Mr. Jukes. 

“I have,” said Robin, “but I never read much of 
his poetry. Do you like it?” 

Mr. Jukes turned a look of surprise on his seat- 
mate. 

“Like it? Wall, now! He’s a great poet, 
Joaquin is. He tells things that we folks up here 


ENTER TOM QUARTZ 


39 


in the hills knows all about, but ain’t got sense 
enough to put in words. He writ one little song for 
that Society I was tellin’ about. Want to hear it? 
It’s about the times when this here country was 
new.” 

“It looks pretty new yet, seems to me,” said Don, 
looking about him with boyish delight in the “un- 
explored” aspect of his surroundings. They had 
not passed a house for several miles now, and the 
narrow wagon track itself was the only sign of 
civilization. 

“But of course we want to hear the poem. Please 
do recite it,” urged Robin. 

“I’ll sing it,” declared Larry Jukes. “I made 
the tune myself. I sing it nights, sometimes, when 
me an’ Tom are sittin’ by our fire. It goes like 
this.” And then, in a husky, sweet, old-fashioned 
voice, to an odd, monotonous, but pleasing melody, 
he crooned the beautiful, pathetic words of Joaquin 
Miller’s song. 

“We have worked our claims, 

We have spent our gold, 

Our barks are astrand on the bars; 

We are battered and old. 

Yet at night we behold 

Outcroppings of gold in the stars. 

“Though battered and old. 

Our hearts are bold; 

Yet oft do we repine 
For the days of old. 

For the days of gold. 

For the days of forty-nine. 


40 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Where the rabbits play, 

And the quail all day 
Pipe on the chaparral hill; 

A few more days 
And the last of us lays 
His pick aside, and all is still. 

‘‘We are wreck and stray, 

We are cast away, 

Poor battered old hulks and spars; 

But we hope and pray 
On the judgment day 
We shall strike it up in the stars. 

“Though battered and old, 

Our hearts are bold; 

Yet oft do we repine 
For the days of old, 

For the days of gold, 

For the days of forty-nine!” 

No one felt like speaking when Larry’s song was 
ended. The horses were climbing now, bending 
their rough-coated shoulders bravely to the effort. 
Up and up and up they went, curving around the 
side of a pine-clad butte that stretched high above 
them. At last a more level space was reached, and 
Larry pulled in his horses to rest, setting the brake to 
keep the wheels from pulling backward. 

Robin looked about her with delight. The golden 
green of the young oak leaves, the rich, dark foliage 
of the pines and cedars, the dainty, unfamiliar wild 
flowers scattered lavishly ever3rwhere, the intensely 
blue sky above the tree tops, all united to make a 
picture that thrilled her beauty-loving heart. Only 
a little breeze touched their faces, but farther up the 


ENTER TOM QUARTZ 


41 


hillside they could see the pine boughs swaying grace- 
fully, and the music of the wind among the branches 
came down to them as from very far away. 

'^How good it smells up here!” commented Jerry, 
sniffing approvingly. 

^^It’s the warm sun on the evergreens,” said 
Larry. ‘‘It^s more so in summer. Hark! y’u 
hear anything?” 

Every one listened. 

^Ht sounds like young turkeys,” said Don. 
“What is it, Mr. Jukes?” 

“It^s the quail, ^pipin’ on the chaparral hill,’ like 
I was singin’ to y’u about.” 

“But our quail don’t call like that. They say 
‘Bob-White!’” protested Jerry. 

“Can’t help what down-east birds do. Them 
there’s quail. Do y’ur quail wear little bonnets 
atop of their heads?” 

“Of course not!” 

“H’m. Must be funny lookin’ critters.” 

“It’s yours that are funny,” rejoined Jerry, a little 
hotly, for he was still ardently loyal to the East from 
which he had been so anxious to emigrate, and he 
had already discovered that the old Californian 
scorned everything on the farther side of the Sierras. 

“Is that chaparral?” asked Don, hurriedly, for 
he had his private misgivings as to the stability of 
Mr. Jukes’ temper, and he did not care to see the 
blue eyes flash lightning and the black brows con- 
tract fiercely again. 


42 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


^^That there?” asked Larry, pointing with his 
whip handle. ‘^No, that’s manzanita — that bush 
with the shiny red bark an’ the sort of grayish leaves. 
See how crooked the branches are? I’ve heard 
there’s a big standin’ offer made by some society 
or ruther, for a perfectly straight stick of manzanita, 
three foot long — or mebby it’s five, I ain’t certain. 
’D like to know what they mean to do with it when 
they get it — which they ain’t likely to,” he added 
with conviction. ‘H reckon it’s a safe enough offer.” 

Jerry registered a silent vow to discover the fabled 
straight stick of manzanita and thereby rescue the 
Arnold family from poverty. That and the gold 
mine in their back yard 

‘^Oh, I say,” he cried, suddenly remembering 
something; ‘H was looking at some ore specimens 
in a window b^k at Minersville, and I noticed some 
of them were labeled ‘Twenty Rattles.’ Do you 
know anything about that mine, Mr. Jukes?” 

“Wall, I ought to! I’ve worked off an’ on there 
for a good many years.” 

“You’re a miner yourself then?” asked Don. 

“Not exactly. That is to say, I don’t work under- 
ground — don’t like the powder smoke. I prospect. 
Folks around here say I’m the best prospector in the 
districk. Reckon they lie. But I’ve prospected this 
here country since way back in the early days 

“ ‘ The days of old, 

The days of gold, 

The days of forty-nine.”’ 


ENTER TOM QUARTZ 


43 


The last words were spoken very softly, as if he 
were remembering things that had happened long 
ago. 

''I suppose there isn’t much gold left, around 
here,” ventured Don. 

Larry Jukes laughed. “There’s millions of it, 
but it’s mostly down in the bowels of the mountains, 
’Tain’t much use washin’ gravel or scratchin’ grass 
roots any more.” 

“What do you mean by that?” asked Robin, 
much mystified. 

“I mean there ain’t much gold left near the sur- 
face o’ the ground. It’s been got; right around here 
it has, leastways.” 

“Well,” she said, “I’m sure I hope you got your 
share of it Un the days of old.’ ” 

And then, to the utter astonishment of all but Don, 
the eccentric Mr. Jukes underwent a sudden trans- 
formation. 

“No!” he said in a harsh, strained voice. “I 
ain’t got the half my fair share! Get up!” he 
shouted to his horses, releasing the brake. 

With a sigh of protest the weary animals obeyed; 
the wheels creaked and turned; the rattling and 
jolting process was begun again, and not another 
word was said for a long time. 

It was Tom Quartz who finally broke the newly 
formed ice. Tiring of his place between Don and 
Jerry, he rose, yawned, stretched himself, and sprang 
straight to the shoulder of his master. There he 


44 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


sat, purring contentedly and rubbing his head against 
Mr. Jukes’ whiskers. 

‘‘Tom’s a very clever old fellow, isn’t he?” 
remarked Robin, experimentally. Tom’s master 
replied affably, and the conversation once more 
flowed smoothly on. 

As the road wound higher and higher into the 
mountains, the scenery became wilder and more 
beautiful with every mile. The trees were much 
larger than below, many of the pines and cedars 
reaching a height of a hundred and fifty feet or more. 
There was scarcely any underbrush, and the hill- 
side, carpeted with brown needles of the evergreens, 
stretched away, below and above them, open as a 
lawn. 

Larry Jukes was all friendliness again. He told 
them wild stories of “the days of old,” he taught 
them to know chaparral and birch and the lovely 
wild azaleas; he pointed out places of interest along 
the way, — here the former site of the old Gray 
Mule Mine, famous producer once, but long since 
abandoned; there, the crazy little shack where a 
lonely prospector had been murdered, quarter of a 
century before, for the gold dust he had accumu- 
lated; yonder 

But unfortunate Jerry interrupted. 

“I suppose there’s a good deal of that sort of 
thing going on in this kind of a country.” 

“What sort o’ thing?” demanded Larry, turning 
around in his seat so quickly that Tom Quartz lost 


ENTER TOM QUARTZ 


45 


his footing, and had to scramble back to his master^s 
shoulder, growling and spitting savagely. 

‘‘You needn’t get mad about it!” cried hot-tem- 
pered Jerry, adding, more mildly: “I only meant that 
in a mining country there’d naturally be lots of law- 
lessness, murdering and quarreling and stealing and 
so on.” 

“Don’t go to supposin’ about things y’u don’t 
know nothin’ about,” growled Larry, morosely. 

After that no one tried to set the conversational 
ball rolling again, and the drive continued in a 
silence relieved only by the murmur of the wind in 
the pines, the rattle of the wagon over the deeply 
rutted road, and the heavy breathing of the climb- 
ing horses. At last the top of a ridge was reached, 
and the descent down the opposite side begun. It 
was growing late. The sun had set and only the 
dim twilight of the hills was left. The world seemed 
suddenly terribly lonely and forsaken to Robin. For 
the first time since she left the East, a wave of home- 
sickness overwhelmed her. 

“Aren’t we nearly there?” she asked in a trem- 
bling voice. 

Larry pointed down the long slope of the road. 

“Do y’u see that light, yonder among the trees?” 

“Yes!” 

“Wall, that there’s Johnnie Sturtevandt’s ranch. 
The Mercedes River flows between the road and 
his house, but there’s a bridge y’u can walk across. 
I’m goin’ to stop this side.” 


46 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


“But our baggage!” protested Don. “We can’t 
carry our trunks that distance. Can’t you drive 
us over to the house?” 

“I could, but I ain’t goin’ to. D’ y’u think I’d 
set foot on Johnnie Sturtevandt’s land ?” 

“It isn’t Uncle Jonathan’s land — it’s ours, Don’s, 
and Robin’s, and mine 1 ” cried Jerry, angrily. “ Can’t 
you look at it that way?” 

But Larry Jukes was not to be softened or per- 
suaded. At the bottom of the descent he pulled 
in his team, climbed down over the wheel, and held 
up his hands to help Robin alight. Indignant, but 
helpless, the boys scrambled after. Larry lifted 
out their trunks in his powerful arms and set them 
carefully down behind a clump of chaparral. 

“There won’t nothin’ touch ’em here. In the 
mornin’ y’u can have Uncle Johnnie trot out with 
his wheelbarrow an’ pack ’em in!” he said sooth- 
ingly. “Y’u needn’t pay me to-night,” he added, 
seeing that Don was fumbling with his pocket-book 
in the dusk. “Y’u can run over to my place some 
day an’ settle for y’ur ride. I live just about a mile 
on along the road, halfway betwixt here an’ Twenty 
Rattles. Good night to y’u! Hope y’u’ll enjoy 
yourselves to Uncle Johnnie’s!” 

There was a crack of the whip, a turning of 
wheels, a sound of galloping hoofs growing fainter 
and fainter in the distance, — and then the great 
silence of the Sierras shut them in. They could 
hear no sound besides the gurgle and rush of the 


ENTER TOM QUARTZ 


47 


river over the stones. The sky had lost the luminous 
glow of early evening, and a few stars had begun to 
blink overhead. The air had grown suddenly 
frosty. A greater loneliness than they had ever 
before felt came over the three orphans as they 
stood there, silent, just where hard-hearted Larry 
had dropped them. 


CHAPTER IV 


MAGGIE 

Don was the first to pull himself together. 

‘‘You mustn’t stand here in the cold, Robin. We 
might as well go on across the river and hunt up our 
house.” 

Picking up their hand-baggage, they started down 
a grass-grown wagon track that led to the river. 
The bridge proved to be but a rickety affair — so 
much so that Don privately rejoiced that Larry had 
not tried to cross it with his heavy load. 

Beyond the bridge they followed the track for 
some little distance. Low trees and bushes grew so 
densely to their left that they could catch no glimpse 
of the light they had seen from the top of the ridge. 
Suddenly it flashed into their eyes again, and, turn- 
ing to their left, they found that they were standing 
in front of a fair-sized building, so dim in the 
fast-gathering darkness that they could just make 
out its vague outlines. The light came from a 
window, and shone but faintly out into the dusk. 

Don, ashamed of his panicky desire to run away, 
strode directly up the steps and gave a resounding 
knock on the door. 

For a minute there was silence; then a strange 

48 


MAGGIE 


49 


sound came from within the mysterious and inhos- 
pitable dwelling, — the last sound they would have 
expected to hear under the circumstances — the 
frightened sobbing of a child ! Robin caught 
her breath, but Don knocked again, louder than 
before. 

Light steps approached the door. The sobbing 
ceased. Then a bolt was shot back and the door 
flung wide. 

“Come in an’ get me, if you want to! / don’t 
care!” 

These were the surprising words that welcomed 
the travelers to their new home. It was a little 
girl who spoke them — a little slip of a girl in a 
faded blue calico frock. Her face was streaked 
with tears; her eyelids were red and swollen; her 
curly black hair hung in tangled disorder on her 
shoulders; her big, wistful dark eyes, like a hunted 
fawn’s, stared straight out into the night. 

“Why don’t you come in?” she demanded fiercely. 
“I ain’t afraid!” 

“You needn’t be,” Don began hurriedly to assure 
her; but Robin, slipping by him, had the lonely 
little person in her arms, and was saying tenderly: 

“We don’t know who you are, dear; and you 
don’t know who we are; but that doesn’t matter. 
Don’t be frightened. Just tell us what’s the trouble 
and we’ll take care of you!” 

“Doesn’t Uncle Jonathan live here?” asked 
Jerry. 


50 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 

The little girl shook her head slowly, in a puzzled 
way. 

‘‘ Mr. Johnnie Sturtevandt,’^ explained Don. 
‘Hsn’t this his place?” 

^'He’s dead!” announced the child, solemnly. 

“Dead!” cried Robin and her brothers in a breath. 

“When did he die?” asked Don. 

“Day before yesterday. They buried him to- 
day.” The child’s eyes dilated with horror. “They 
took him off in a wagon. They tried to make me go 
to Angel with them, but they couldn’t. I hid in the 
chaparral.” 

“Why didn’t you want to go?” asked Robin. 

“They were going to take me to the poor-house, 
an’ I didn’t want to go there. I thought I could 
stay here an’ take care of myself, but I can’t. It’s 
been so awful lonesome since they took gran’pa away. 
I ain’t going to stay here. They’ll come back for 
me to-morrow, an’ then I’ll go with them. I thought 
it was them when you came. Who are you fellows, 
anyway?” she asked, suddenly breaking off her 
story to stare curiously from one to another of her 
unexpected guests. 

“If you’re Mr. Sturtevandt’s granddaughter, 
we must be some kind of cousins, for he’s — he was 
our father’s uncle,” Don informed her. 

“If you’ll lend me a pencil and paper I’ll figure it 
out,” put in irrepressible Jerry, and, quite to every- 
body’s surprise, the little girl smiled brightly at the 
very mild sally. 


MAGGIE 


51 


‘‘I’m so glad you fellows have come,” she sighed 
in sudden confidence, clinging to Robin’s hand. 
“I’m Maggie Sturtevandt. You’re going to stay, 
aren’t you?” 

“That’s what we’re here for. This is our 
property, you see,” said Jerry, rather importantly. 

“Are you the doctor?” asked old Johnnie Stur- 
tevandt’s grandchild, fixing Jerry with her serious 
eyes. “Gran’pa used to say the ranch belonged to 
a doctor back East. Are you him?” 

“Ho — ho! Dr. Jerry Arnold, M.D.l” derided 
Don, but Robin hastened to explain the situation to 
the newly discovered cousin. 

“And now,” Robin concluded, “we’re very tired 
and cold and hungry, and this is the only home 
we’ve got in the whole world. Do you suppose we 
could have some supper, Maggie, — and a fire?” 
she added, looking longingly at the big empty fire- 
place at one side of the room. “If we had known 
of Uncle Jonathan’s death, we would have ” 

“Didn’t you know anything about our coming?” 
asked Don, suddenly. “Didn’t your grandpa ever 
get our letters? We wrote, three weeks ago, and 
again before we started, but we didn’t receive any 
answer.” 

Maggie shook her head. “ Gran’pa hadn’t been 
to Angel for a month. He’s been too poorly. An’ 
I’ve had too much to do to go.” 

^^YouV'^ exclaimed Robin. “You don’t mean to 
say that you would go all the way to Angel Flat 


52 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


alone, through these wild woods, — such a little 
girl as you?” 

Maggie looked at her in astonishment. 

twelve, if I am little, an’ I’m not afraid to 
go anywheres alone.” 

“Do you walk?” asked Jerry, admiringly. 

“Sometimes, but most gen’rally I ride Stubby.” 

“Who’s he?” 

“Gran’pa’s burro.” 

“Oh, please, children!” interrupted weary Robin, 
“let’s wait till after supper to find out everything. 
Don, dear, do see if you can’t find some wood to 
start a fire — it’s grown so cold. And I’ll get sup- 
per, Maggie, if you’ll just show me where things 
are.” 

“No, ma’am,” protested Maggie, suddenly realiz- 
ing that she was not doing her duty as a hostess. 
“You lay by your things an’ rest, an’ I’ll tend to 
supper.” 

“Good work, Maggie! I’ll help!” cried Jerry, 
enthusiastically. He followed her into the next 
room, whence a great banging of stove-lids and 
clatter of dishes announced that the longed-for 
meal was in process of preparation. Don had 
already disappeared in search of fuel, and Robin 
was left to herself. 

She took off her hat, coat, and gloves, and then, 
dropping into the one rocking-chair that the room 
afforded, began to look about her with languid 
interest. The room was a large, square one, low- 



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MAGGIE 


53 


raftered and with unplastered walls. The furniture 
was of the scantiest, but everything looked clean 
and comfortable. The floor was uncarpeted, save 
for a big bearskin that lay in front of the fireplace. 
Deeres antlers, fox and coyote pelts, and dozens of 
gray squirrels’ tails fantastically decorated the walls. 
The wide board that served as a mantel shelf was 
laden with bits of rock, many of which glittered in 
the lamplight with specks of mineral and tiny crys- 
tals. Above them, from hooks screwed securely 
into the wall, hung a handsome rifle. 

At last, in their idle wandering from one object 
to another, Robin’s eyes were caught by a picture, 
the only one in the whole room. Something about 
the dim outlines of the face inside the old-fashioned 
frame seemed strangely familiar to the girl. She 
rose, turned the lamp-wick a little higher, and 
crossed the room. 

‘^Why, it’s Great-grandfather Sturtevandt ! ” she 
exclaimed aloud, looking closely at the handsome 
old gentleman with the severe brows and the stern 
downward curve of the shaven upper lip. ‘^You 
dear, cross old ancestor of ours — I’m truly glad to 
see you!” 

Who’s that you’re so glad to see?” asked Don, 
coming in from the kitchen with an armful of kin- 
dling, and slamming the door behind him. 

^‘Come and see! It’s our own great-grandfather. 
Doesn’t it seem absurd to find such a loyal old 
Vermonter away out here?” 


54 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Grandfather Sturtevandt all right,’’ said 
Don, looking over her shoulder. ‘‘And come to 
think of it, there’s nothing so funny about Uncle 
Jonathan having a picture of his own father on his 
wall. Seems sort of homelike to see the old chap, 
doesn’t it, Robin?” 

“Yes, indeed ! I feel better already, ” cried Robin, 
bravely. “It’s a dear old room, Don, if it is rough, 
and when we get our pictures and books unpacked 
and things fixed up a bit, it’ll be as cosy as you please. 
Won’t it, Don?” she asked wistfully, longing to 
hear him second her hopeful prophecy. 

“You bet it will!” agreed Don, with inelegant 
enthusiasm, as he piled his kindling and sticks scien- 
tifically on the hearth and scratched a match. “And 
Maggie’s a little lady,” the boy went on, kneeling 
on the bearskin and touching off his fire in various 
places. “She showed me where to get wood and 
stuff, and she’s hustling Jerry about like a major. 
I didn’t know there was so much work in the old 
boy. They’ll have supper in no time. She says she’s 
‘done’ for her grandpa ever since she can remember. ” 

“Fancy! Is she an orphan, Don? I didn’t like 
to ask.” 

“Guess so. I overheard scraps of her talk with 
Jerry while I was splitting kindlings. They’ve struck 
up a great acquaintance, already. She isn’t nearly 
so shy with him — I suppose because they’re nearer 
of an age. By the way, Robin,” he added in a low 
voice, “what are we going to do about her?” 


MAGGIE 


55 


^‘Do? Why, Don, what can we do but keep her 
with us? We can’t turn her out, any more than we 
would have done Uncle Jonathan. Much less, in 
fact, for she’s just a little girl.” 

“I knew you’d say so, and of course we couldn’t — 
not with her great-grandfather and ours staring down 
at us like that!” and Don glanced up at the stiff old 
gentleman on the wall. “We’re not very well fixed 
to adopt a child, Robin, but I suppose we can all 
starve together!” 

“All starve together! Well, I like that!” shouted 
an indignant voice at the door of the kitchen, and 
there stood Jerry, flushed and breathless. “You 
two people sit by the fire and talk about starving, 
while Peggy and I wear our fingers to the bone 
getting you up a regular spread!” 

“Supper’s ready,” smiled Maggie, shyly, past his 
elbow, and Don and his sister jumped up with alacrity. 

Robin found the kitchen a snug little room, cosily 
warm to-night from the rousing fire Jerry had made 
in the old cook-stove. The table was covered with 
checkered red and white oilcloth, tacked securely 
down; the knives and forks had wooden handles; 
the plates and cups were of thick ironstone china, 
and there were neither butter plates nor napkins. 
But what were such trifles to the royal appetites of 
fasting youth ? A delicious odor of fried bacon met 
Don’s hungry sniff of anticipation, and Robin gave 
a sigh of comfort as she poured the clear, golden- 
brown coffee from the tin pot into the handleless cups. 


56 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


‘^What a splendid little cook you are, Maggie!’’ 
she commented approvingly. ‘‘Who taught you ?” 

“Gran’pa. He said I got so I could do ’most 
anything as weU as he could. But I can’t make 
bread,” she added sadly. “It ain’t fit to eat. 
Stubby won’t look at my bread.” 

“Never mind,” laughed Robin, “that’s one of the 
things I can do. Chrissie taught me, and I’ll guar- 
antee that even Stubby won’t turn up his nose at my 
bread!” 

As a matter of fact, the bread on the table was 
rather heavy and sour, but none the less the plate 
had to be replenished more than once, and bacon and 
eggs, pease and potatoes and baked beans and coffee 
disappeared at an alarming rate. 

“We shall starve soon if we eat like this often,” 
warned Don in Robin’s ear. “This stuff that comes 
in cans is expensive.” 

“Don’t croak, Donnie! Who knows but we may 
strike gold in our back yard, as Jerry prophesies?” 

“Or a straight manzanita stick,” began Jerry, 
but Maggie interrupted him. 

“Did you fellows come out here to look for gold ?” 
she asked, with a strange expression on her little 
face. 

“No,” answered Robin, hurriedly. “We came 
for a home. It was just Jerry’s nonsense about the 
gold. ” 

“I’m glad!” said Maggie. 

“Why?” 


MAGGIE 


57 


‘^Because I hate gold! I hate it!’’ 

“Why?” asked Robin again, surprised at the 
bitterness in the child’s voice. 

“It makes people ugly, so they don’t like each 
other. Gran’pa was always hunting for gold, an’ 
never found it, an’ it made him cross, so he hated 
people. He hated Larry Jukes worst of anybody. 
He wouldn’t let me even pet Tom Quartz.” 

Don and Jerry exchanged interested glances, but 
Robin changed the subject abruptly. She had 
heard enough of feuds and bitterness for this first 
day. 

“Let’s hurry and clear the table so we can sit by 
the fire and visit a little before bedtime,” she sug- 
gested, rising and beginning to gather together the 
plates. 

“Speaking of bedtime, where are ‘we fellows’ 
going to sleep?” asked Jerry, with an inquiring 
look in Maggie’s direction. 

Evidently the little hostess had not got so far as 
this in her plans. 

“Can’t I sleep with you, Maggie ?” asked Robin. 

“Oh, yes, ma’am; my bed’s plenty big enough.” 

“And Jerry and I can bunk anywhere,” said 
Don. 

“There’s gran’pa’s room,” said Maggie, slowly, 
“but I haven’t got it straightened up since they took 
him away. I couldn’t bear to go in there, it was so 
lonesome. You wouldn’t want to sleep in there — ■ 
not to-night.” 


58 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


'H’ll tell you,’’ said Jerry. ‘^Give us some 
blankets and we’ll curl down by the fire and sleep 
like tops.” 

So it was arranged. By the time the supper dishes 
had been washed and put away, it was growing late, 
and the travelers were too tired and sleepy to spend 
much time in talking. 

Robin kissed her brothers good night, and followed 
Maggie’s candle up the dark, steep stairway to a 
little bedroom under the roof, and long before her 
little bedfellow’s eyes had closed upon the dark, the 
older girl was fast asleep, worn out by the long drive 
and the strangeness of this home-coming. 

Don and Jerry, after removing their shoes and 
collars for greater comfort, cuddled down cosily 
among their blankets on the warm bearskin, and 
whispered together a little while after everything 
had grown still overhead. Then their drowsy voices, 
too, died away into silence, and no sound was left in 
the room save the subdued murmur of the flames 
that crept around Don’s big back-log. 

Only Grandfather Sturtevandt, grimly wide awake 
on the wall, was left to watch his sleeping descendants 
through the long night. 


CHAPTER V 


THE robin’s nest 

Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle; — drip, drop, drip, drop — 

For half an hour Robin had been drowsily con- 
scious of the monotonous music; but now she came 
wide awake with a start, and realized that a steady 
rain was beating on the roof above her head and dim- 
ming the window so that she could not see out. 

“Oh, dear, Maggie, — our poor trunks!” she 
exclaimed in dismay to the littl^ girl, who was already 
half dressed. 

Jumping out of bed, Robin hurried into dressing- 
gown and slippers and ran downstairs. Jerry and 
Don were still fast asleep, rolled in their blankets 
beside the charred remains of the fire they had cheer- 
fully agreed to keep burning all night. 

“Wake up, boys!” cried Robin, tapping the 
slumberous youth nearest her with the toe of her 
slipper. “Wake up, Don!” 

“What’s wrong?” yawned Don, sitting up and 
rubbing his eyes. 

“It’s raining — oh, like suds, as Chrissie used to 
say!” explained Robin, “and there our poor dear 
trunks are sitting out under the chaparral, just 
where that horrid old Larry Jukes left them!” 

69 


60 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Guess they can’t get any wetter than they are by 
this time. It’s a dandy morning to sleep, Robin, — 
can’t you let a fellow alone a few minutes longer?” 
And Don snuggled down again into his blankets. 

‘Wery well,” said Robin, in a much-abused tone, 
shall have to go out and get them myself. I 
think perhaps I can drag them up in an hour or 
two. Of course I shall get a little wet, but nobody 
will care. Now if I only had a brother ” 

‘‘Poor girl!” sympathized Don, watching her 
lazily as she crossed the room and fumbled with the 
bolt of the outside door. “I’d stop to put on my 
shoes and stockings first, if I were you. They have 
rattlesnakes up here, you know, and just as like as 
not, one will wind around your bare ankles.” 

“What’s that about snakes ?” asked a sleepy, but 
anxious voice from Jerry’s side of the bearskin; and 
then — “Oh, I say, Robin, that’s not fair!” 

She had flung the outer door open, and a great 
wave of cold, damp air rushed in on her brothers and 
made Robin herself shiver as she wrapped her dress- 
ing-gown closer about her. 

“Why, boys,” she exclaimed in surprise, “so you 
did bring the trunks in last night, after all! You 
might have told me!” 

“But we didn’t!” denied Don, now wide awake 
and on his feet. 

“We never thought of it,” added Jerry, following 
his brother and sister to the door. There, sure 
enough, were the three trunks, safe and dry under 


THE ROBIN’S NEST 


61 


the steep porch roof, that was shedding sheets of 
water. 

^'Come in, Robin — you’ll take cold,” said Don, 
drawing his sister inside and closing the door. 

‘^But who did it?” she asked, much puzzled. 

“Ask something easy!” from Jerry. 

“Maggie’s the only person beside us here, and of 
course she couldn’t have done it.” 

“Maybe Larry Jukes repented and came back 
while we were at supper. We’d never in the world 
have heard him; we were too busy eating.” 

“Oh, come off, Don,” protested Jerry. “We 
were hungry, I know, but don’t make us out ” 

“Hungry? I should say we were. And the 
queer thing about it is that I’m just as hungry this 
morning as if I hadn’t had a bite last night!” 

“Guess it’s the mountain air,” Jerry suggested, as 
he put on his collar and tied his necktie as best he 
could without a glass. 

Robin had gone back upstairs to dress, and Mag- 
gie was busy in the kitchen. Don sent Jerry to help 
her, while he himself rebuilt the fire on the big stone 
hearth and made tidy the living-room. 

By the time Robin came down, everything was in 
smooth running order and breakfast nearly ready. 
Maggie was peeping anxiously into the coffee-pot; 
Jerry was blistering his face making toast, and 
Don was pouring evaporated cream from a newly 
opened tin can into a cracked pitcher, and diluting 
the rich yellow fluid with cold water. 


62 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


‘‘Go easy, there, Don!” cried Jerry, letting his 
toast scorch as he watched the last-mentioned 
operation. “Don’t put in so much water! You’ll 
make it thin as skim milk!” 

“Sorry, but we’ve got to economize,” explained 
Don, in elder-brotherly accents. “This plaguey 
stuff costs ten cents a can, and we used a whole can 
just for supper last night. If we get into such 
extravagant habits as that, it won’t be long before 
we go under, financially.” 

“Doesn’t anybody up here keep cows?” Robin 
asked; but Maggie didn’t know of anybody who 
did. 

Maggie was by this time beginning to feel well 
acquainted with her cousins, and talked freely dur- 
ing the breakfast hour, telling them many interesting 
things about this country that was so strange to 
them and so familiar to her. They listened absorb- 
edly, Robin even forgetting her dislike for the 
“canned cream,” and fastidious Jerry swallowing 
Maggie’s corn-meal mush as if it were his favorite 
dish. 

After breakfast, while Maggie washed the dishes, 
the boys brought in the trunks and Robin busied 
herself with unpacking. 

All day long the rain came steadily down, and, 
since it was impossible to explore their out-of- 
door possessions, the energetic young Arnolds, with 
Maggie’s eager and wondering assistance, devoted 
themselves to rearranging and settling the house. 


THE ROBIN^S NEST 


63 


Though old Johnnie Sturtevandt had been as 
neat as any woman, and Maggie his apt pupil, 
things had, of course, fallen into some disorder dur- 
ing the days of illness, and considerable vigorous 
wielding of broom and mop and dust cloth was 
necessary before Robin declared with a sigh of 
weary satisfaction that ‘^even Chrissie couldn’t find 
any fault now.” 

With only a half-hour’s intermission for a hasty 
lunch at noon, the work went merrily on. The 
boys’ belongings were carried up to the little cham- 
ber under the roof, which Robin promised herself to 
transform into a capital ‘Men” for them some day. 
“Grandpa’s room” was turned into a cosy bed- 
room for herself and Maggie. The bed was thor- 
oughly aired and renovated, freshly made, and 
covered with a spotless counterpane; a coyote skin 
was laid on the floor beside it; the top of the rough 
pine wash-stand was hidden under a snowy towel, 
and around its gaunt legs a skirt of gay cretonne 
was charitably draped by Robin’s deft fingers. The 
boys put up a broad shelf next the window, and this, 
covered with the same cretonne and further deco- 
rated with a ruffle and brass-headed tacks, made a 
dressing-table that widened Maggie’s eyes with 
wonder and admiration. It was like a fairy story 
to the little girl to see one beautiful thing after 
another emerge from the recesses of the enchanted 
trunks. She hovered about Robin in a flutter of 
eager excitement, touching the little silver toilet 


64 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


articles with timid fingers, or patting with loving 
reverence Robin’s simple gowns and ribbons and 
dainty undergarments. 

In the living-room the great problem was that of 
furniture. There was only one rocking-chair — 
voted Robin’s by common consent, and of the 
straight ones, one was rickety to the danger point, 
and altogether there were not enough to go around. 
Clearly, something must be done, or, as Jerry com- 
plained, he and Don would have to take turns 
standing up. 

“There’s an old rocker upstairs,” volunteered 
Maggie, “but it’s broke.” 

Jerry dashed up to investigate. 

“Be careful!” yelled Don, a minute later, as he 
heard his brother come clattering down. “Those 

stairs are awful steep!” 

But he spoke too late. Bang! Bang! Bumpity- 

bang! A frightful racket and a groan of pain 

caused an alarmed group to gather at the foot of the 
stairs. Fortunately neither chair nor boy was found 
to be injured, save for sundry scratches and bruises. 
While Robin comforted Jerry with court-plaster 
and witch-hazel, Don devoted himself and his little 
tool-chest to the service of the old chair, which was 
speedily restored to usefulness, if not to beauty. 

“Now if you could only manufacture a couch, 
Don!” suggested his admiring sister. “I’ve got a 
whole trunk tray full of sofa pillows, and nothing to 
put them on.” 


THE ROBIN’S NEST 


65 


“Didn’t you bring our hammock?” asked Jerry. 

“Yes, but I don’t call this hammock weather,” 
replied Robin, glancing out at the pouring rain. 

“Why not string it up in here? There’s plenty 
of room across this corner.” 

“Bright idea, Jerry!” Don cried, and began 
straightway to rummage among his things for some 
strong hooks to screw on the wall. 

Jerry’s suggestion proved to have been a most 
happy one, and all agreed that the gay hammock, 
swung cosily across the corner of the room and bal- 
lasted with pretty pillows and a warm-colored afghan, 
made a wonderful change in the old room and 
brightened things up famously. 

To Maggie’s deep, though unexpressed relief, the 
odd collection of trophies and curiosities with which 
her grandfather had decorated the walls and mantel 
was left untouched, save for dusting and rearrang- 
ing. Robin, guessing the child’s anxiety, had de- 
clared at the outset that no other furnishing would 
be half so appropriate and pretty. Photographs 
were tacked here and there about the room. A 
shelf was put up to hold books and the little bronze 
clock, which was now ticking away the minutes as 
briskly and merrily as ever, after its week’s silence. 
Don improvised a little table out of an empty barrel 
and Maggie’s molding board, explaining to her 
entire satisfaction, that it would be but a trifling 
matter to remove a screw or two and restore her 
property to its original use on baking days. Then 


66 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Robin went fishing in her trunk again and came back 
with a beautiful, old-fashioned blue and white bed- 
spread, which, folded once, made a cover that hung 
quite to the floor, and entirely hid the peculiar 
anatomy of Don’s table. 

‘H’m so glad I belong to a family of geniuses,” 
commented Jerry, from the hammock, whither he 
had been allowed to retire in consideration for his 
bruises. ^‘How on earth did you happen to bring 
so much stuff with you, Robin? Mrs. Robinson’s 
bag was nothing compared with your trunk.” 

Well, that old spread was mother’s, and I couldn’t 
bear to leave it behind ; I knew I could find a use for 
all sorts of odds and ends. The bottom of my trunk 
isn’t reached yet. Wait till you see the old white 
dress that’s going to be made into sash curtains, and 
the — oh, I must show you something else I brought, 
boys! Don’t you dare to laugh!” 

But laugh they did when their sister, half proudly, 
half apologetically, brought out from her bedroom 
something that had been the pet aversion of all three 
from their early childhood — a hideous picture done 
all in wax and hair, and enclosed under glass in a 
deep, coffin-like frame. 

So that’s the sort of thing we paid excess baggage 
on in New York! Robin, I’m ashamed of you!” 
scolded Don. 

‘H couldn’t help it, Don — really I couldn’t! I 
knew no one would buy it, and I didn’t feel like 
asking any one to take it as a gift.” 


THE ROBIN’S NEST 


67 


‘H should rather think not!” came from the depths 
of the hammock. 

^‘And I hated to destroy it when Great-grand- 
mother Sturtevandt spent so many weary hours over 
those ghastly little flowers and things.” 

‘‘Never mind,” said Don, resignedly. “We’ll 
hang it up beside grandfather’s picture. Maybe it 
will be company for the old boy.” And accord- 
ingly the ancient work of art was given the place of 
honor beside the portrait of their stern forefather, 
and hung there, tolerated for sentimental reasons 
by Don and Jerry and Robin, and regarded with 
admiring awe by their little cousin. 

One more task remained before the room was 
pronounced complete — the hanging of two small 
paintings whose rich gold frames contrasted brightly 
with the rough background against which they shone. 

“Now I feel that we are really at home,” said 
Robin, as she looked up into the pictured faces of 
her father and mother. “What shall we call our 
little nest, children?” she asked, turning to smile at 
the others from beneath the beautiful portraits. 

“I think ” began Maggie, but stopped timidly. 

“What do you think, dear?” prompted Robin. 

“I think it would be nice to call it the Robin’s 
Nest!” 

‘ ‘ Three cheers for Maggie ! I second her motion ! ’ ’ 
shouted Jerry. “All in favor say ” 

And Don joined him in an ear-splitting “Aye!” 


CHAPTER VI 


PING-PONG AND SUNSHINE 

^^Let^S go back to New York!’^ grumbled Jerry, 
flattening his shapely nose against a rain-blurred 
window-pane. 

Don looked up from his book with a mischievous 
grin. 

‘‘We can’t, you know. It’s awfully inconsiderate 
of the railroad companies, but they won’t let us 
travel for nothing. Don’t you remember my tell- 
ing you that we’d have to stay, willy-nilly?” 

It was contemptible of Don, but Jerry was too 
gloomy to resent it. 

“A fellow couldn’t be expected to know that he 
was getting into anything like this. Talk about 
your Lands of Sunshine ! — why, California simply 
isn’t in it with Summerville. Bet you it’s some- 
thing like, back there, about now, — fish biting, 
birds coming back, baseball practice beginning ” 

Jerry stopped suddenly with a little homesick 
break in his voice that made the older lad ashamed 
of himself. Throwing down his book, Don crossed 
the room and gave his brother’s shoulder a pain- 
fully sympathetic thump. 

“Cheer up, old man!” he cried. “What if we 
68 


PING-PONG AND SUNSHINE 69 


have struck what Chris used to call a ^ spell o’ 
weather’ — it can’t help clearing off in a day or 
two.” 

“What’ll you bet it can’t help it?” asked Jerry, 
gloomily. 

“Maggie ought to know, and she says this is an 
unusually long pour for so late in the season. And 
don’t you remember what a dandy day it was when 
we came up from Minersville ? ” 

Jerry shook his head mournfully and refused to 
be comforted. Ordinarily the lightest-hearted boy 
in the world, he was nevertheless subject to fits of 
moodiness which sorely tried his brother’s patience 
and his sister’s tact. 

Robin, who was resting in the hammock, after a 
busy morning, came to the rescue. 

“ Boys, I brought the old ping-pong set. It’s in the 
lower tray of my trunk. Why don’t you clear the 
kitchen table and try a game? It will do you both 
good.” 

And it did. Jerry was indifferent at first, and 
played carelessly, but suddenly he awoke to the fact 
that Don was beating him, set after set. That 
would never do! His pride rose and his spirits 
with it. The furrows smoothed themselves out of 
his brow; he gripped his racquet with new deter- 
mination, and went in to win. 

Robin smiled with relief as she listened to the 
musical “ping-pong” of the flying ball, the merry 
bursts of laughter, and Jerry’s triumphant “Forty 


70 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


— love! Fifty — my game!” as he cut down the 
score against him. Maggie looked on in fascinated 
interest, and when Don and Jerry invited her to take 
a racquet and try her hand, she proved so promising 
a pupil that the boys foresaw they must look to their 
laurels. However, they generously and recklessly 
taught her all the tricks of the game, and applauded 
her good returns and lively service with patronizing 
enthusiasm. 

The afternoon passed on wings, and Robin’s 
appearance in the doorway with the information 
that it was time to start supper, was a genuine sur- 
prise. But a profounder one followed when the 
boys and Maggie obeyed her smiling command to 
‘^Go look outdoors!” What a blessed change! 
The gray curtain that had hung so drearily over the 
earth for days had quite disappeared, and only a few 
fleecy wisps of cloud, tinted with rose from the 
vanished sun, were left in the sky. The river valley 
and the Robin’s Nest lay in the shadow of approach- 
ing night, but far above them the crests of the eastern 
mountains were radiant with a warm glow of sun- 
shine. The storm was over at last! 

The latter part of the California rainy season is 
like a prolonged eastern April. Days of steady or 
intermittent downpour alternate with days of glori- 
ous sunshine and blue sky, when the earth dries 
with surprising rapidity. The little- traveled road 
that passed the Arnold’s ranch was scarcely muddy 
by noon of the day following the cessation of the 


PING-PONG AND SUNSHINE 71 


rain. In the morning every needle of the little 
pines that grew to the right and left and behind the 
Robin’s Nest was hung with glistening drops of 
moisture, but by the middle of the forenoon the tiny 
jewels had all vanished, and the wholesome fragrance 
of sun-warmed evergreens filled the air. Robin and 
the rest had been up some time, before the sunshine, 
creeping slowly down the mountain-side, reached 
the house. Breakfast was hurried through with, 
the morning work was dispatched in unseemly haste, 
and then, with Maggie for guide, the young squat- 
ters” set eagerly forth to explore their domain. 

Let’s go down to the river first,” suggested 
Jerry, as they stood a minute on the porch, drinking 
in delicious breaths of the sweet, pure air. ‘Ht 
must be a sight after all this rain.” 

And he was not disappointed. The beautiful 
Mercedes, hardly more than a brook in midsummer, 
is transformed by the heavy spring storms into an 
angry, rushing torrent that foams and thunders 
among the huge granite boulders of its steep and 
winding bed, and carries plunging logs like chips 
on its tumultuous bosom. 

‘^Wish we had our old canoe here, Don,” said 
Jerry, longingly. Couldn’t we do some lively 
rapid-shooting, though ? ’ ’ 

‘^Probably Robin has it in that trunk of hers,” 
suggested Don. 

‘Hf I have, I shan’t unpack it,” his sister replied. 
“I’m not quite ready to lose my brothers yet.” 


72 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


The bridge they had crossed the night of their 
arrival was still above the danger point, but it was 
evident that a day more of rain would have seri- 
ously imperiled it. Don’s practical head was already 
planning how to raise and repair and strengthen 
the structure that formed their only connection 
with the outside world. 

Below the bridge, on the ranch side of the river, 
the banks of the stream were covered by a thick 
growth of willows and of graceful alders. Above 
the bridge, both banks had been cleared, and across 
the river the road could be seen, winding pleasantly 
up the curves of the stream and finally losing itself 
behind thickets of white-plumed “birch” or “Cali- 
fornia lilac,” and of the mahogany-colored manzanita, 
with its waxy pink blossoms. In this direction lay 
Larry Jukes’ cabin, and, farther on, the “Twenty 
Rattles Mine.” Beyond the latter, so Larry had 
told them, the road turned to the left, crossed the 
river by ford, and ran, doubling and twisting, but 
ever keeping its easterly and its upward trend, to 
Angel Flat, and on, up and up, into the heart of the 
Sierras. 

“What a hurry the water is in!” said Don to his 
sister, as they stood on the bridge, gazing down in 
dizzy fascination at the seething torrent close below 
them. “Where do you suppose it came from, and 
where is it going, Robin?” 

“It started away back in the range, from some 
little spring,” she replied musingly. “It formed 


PING-PONG AND SUNSHINE 73 


partnerships with other little springs and brooks 
all along the way, and the rain fell into it, and the 
melting snows ran down the mountain-sides to join 
it, and then, first thing it knew , it was a full-fledged 
river, hurrying like mad over the stones to reach the 
Sacramento and the Pacific.” 

^Ht must be fun to be a river, Robin. Nothing to 
do all day long but just let yourself go and go and 
go!” 

Robin laughed. “That sounds more like lazy 
Jerry than like you. But really, Don, the little 
river does a great deal of work during its journey. 
Don’t you remember Mr. Jukes said that it turned 
three water-wheels at Twenty Rattles alone? And 
there must be any number more between here and 
the Sacramento. And think of all the farms — 
ranches, I suppose I mean, that it has to stop and 
irrigate by the way.” 

“Come along, children! There’s more to see 
than a lot of muddy water!” shouted Jerry, just 
then. He and Maggie had wandered back from 
the bridge and were quite a little distance from the 
others. Roused from their meditative mood, Don 
and Robin left the bridge and walked slowly back up 
the grassy wagon track that led to the Robin’s Nest. 

At their left the jungle of chaparral, underbrush, 
and young evergreens that began at the edge of the 
river, extended unbrokenly almost to the house, 
effectually screening the latter from the sight of any 
one approaching. 


74 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


But to their right, back from the river to a dis- 
tance of several hundred yards, sloped a wide, 
smooth, open tract, shaded by one great sugar pine 
and two or three white oaks, studded with swelling 
leaf-buds and hung with green balls of mistletoe. 
Down through the middle of this pleasant meadow 
flowed a little brook, dancing merrily out from the 
dark woods of the mountain-side above; gurgling 
playfully over its shallow, pebbly bed in the sunshine, 
and finally joining the river by way of a baby cata- 
ract. At a point not far below its emergence from 
the forest, this little brook was crossed by a rude 
water-gate, opened now, but which could be closed, 
as Maggie explained, when the water was to be 
diverted to the grass or garden. 

‘‘But where is the garden?” asked Don, looking 
about for any signs of cultivation. 

“There isn’t any now,” replied Maggie. “It 
used to be across the brook there. Gran’pa always 
had corn an’ potatoes an’ beans an’ things, but the 
fences got all broke down an’ the cows just came in 
an- ate everything up.” 

“Why didn’t he mend the fences?” asked Don. 

“I don’t know — I guess he was too poorly,” 
replied Maggie, rather doubtfully. “ He didn’t think 
much about such things, anyway. He was always 
off hunting prospects, except when he was helping 
me with the housework.” 

“I thought you said nobody kept cows up here, 
Maggie,” said Robin. 


PING-PONG AND SUNSHINE 75 


'^Nobody don^t — I mean nobody does,’’ she 
amended hastily. ^‘But folks down Minersville way 
bring theirs up an’ turn them loose every spring 
an’ leave them till fall.” 

^‘What for?” asked Jerry. 

‘‘ ’Cause it costs more’n milk’s worth to feed them 
when it’s dry season an’ all the grass is gone. Even 
up here in the mountains they get dreadful skinny 
before fall, an’ they’re so hungry they’ll break through 
most any kind of a fence to get at anything green. 
They came right up on the porch an’ ate the pansies 
out of my box last summer,” she concluded wofully. 

‘^Poor starved things!” exclaimed Robin. “I 
call it cruel!” 

“And I call it an imposition!” declared Jerry, 
indignantly. “The idea of expecting us moun- 
taineers to support their old cows on our vegetable 
gardens and posy beds.” 

“The fact remains that we’ve got to have a gar- 
den,” reflected Don, “and that the cows have got 
to be kept out of it. How’ll we manage, Robin?” 

“Barbed wire,” suggested Jerry, before his sister 
had had time to answer. 

“Not a bad idea,” admitted Don, “but to make 
a wire fence you’ve got to have posts, and to get 
posts you’ve got to chop down trees and cut them 
up. We’re green at that sort of thing, you know, 
Jerry; by the time we got posts enough for our fence 
I fancy it would be too late to plow our ground and 
start our seeds. Of course we might do the plow- 


76 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


ing and planting first, but then we shouldn’t get our 
fence done before the cows got here.” 

“Maybe we can get some one to help us,” said 
Robin. “There must be other people up here. 
And why can’t we start the seeds in boxes in the 
house while we’re building the fence?” 

“That’s a capital idea. Sis. And, by the way, 
how about said seeds? Of course you’ve got some 
in Mrs. Robinson’s bag?” Don inquired banteringly. 

“I’m afraid I haven’t, except some flower and 
herb seeds,” confessed Robin, as much ashamed 
as if this were not the very first failure of the magic 
trunk. 

“Oh, it’s all right if you’ve got those,” Jerry told 
her reassuringly. “We can live on nasturtium 
blossom salad and sage tea!” 

“Of course it doesn’t matter,” said Don. “We 
can send to Minersville; or maybe they’ll have all 
we need in Angel Flat. We ought to be about it, 
though.” 

“Let’s wait till to-night to talk of business,” pro- 
tested Robin. “There’s so much to see yet this 
morning. And oh — I must stop to pick some of 
these dear flowers! Tell me about them, Maggie — 
I’m sure you know them all.” 

Maggie’s brown cheeks glowed with pride. “I 
guess I do — most of them,” she admitted mod- 
estly. “ Gran’pa used to tell me their names. Those 
little purple ones you’ve got in your hand are 
‘roosters.’ ” 


PING-PONG AND SUNSHINE 77 


‘‘Roosters!” exclaimed horrified Robin. “These 
lovely little things that look as if they’d been turned 
inside out ? See, boys, how prettily the petals curve 
back over the stem, just like — I have it! They’re 
surely own cousins to the cyclamen we used to have 
in the flower-window at home!” 

“I never heard them called ‘si-cul-men,’” said 
Maggie, “but some folks call ’em ‘shooting stars. ’ ” 

“There, Robin, that’s poetic enough, even for 
you,” commented Jerry. “What are these little 
blue fellows, Maggie?” he added, stooping to gather 
a handful of low-growing, cup-shaped flowers, just 
the color of the California sky. 

“Those are ‘baby blue eyes,’ ” explained Maggie, 
and “Oh, there’s a ‘bloody-nose!’ ” she cried in 
delight, spying a dash of vivid scarlet beside the 
wagon track. 

“ Bloody-nose ! What corkers of names the flowers 
out here do have!” 

“Never mind, Don, it can’t spoil their beauty,” 
said Robin, rapturously, as she added the bit of rich 
color to her gay bouquet. 

Robin’s love for flowers was almost a passion, 
and with each new one discovered this happy morn- 
ing she felt that she had made another friend in the 
new home. It was indeed a land of flowers, and the 
blossom season was nearly at its height. Grace- 
ful wild hyacinths, purple-blue and delicately fra- 
grant, dear little gold-cups that looked like tiny, 
furry-petaled tulips, wild pansies, larkspurs in vary- 


78 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


ing shades of lavender, pink, and blue, buttercups 
that might have come straight from a Summerville 
meadow, trailing sprays of Indian carpet, — all 
these and many more filled Robin^s delighted hands 
to overflowing. 

In gathering them she and her brothers and Maggie 
wandered overall the cleared part of the ranch. They 
lingered an hour in the open grassy acres through 
which the small brook chattered so pleasantly; they 
stopped to pat little gray rabbit-eared Stubby, who 
was straying about at his own sweet will, browsing 
the fresh green grass; finally they rambled up into 
the edge of the forest that clothed the mountain- side 
which Jerry flippantly named Our Back Yard. ’’ 

It was not easy walking here, for dense under- 
brush choked the spaces among the lofty trees; wild 
gooseberry and blackberry briers snatched vigor- 
ously at passing garments, and where the slope was 
not rough and stony it was slippery with pine needles. 
Moreover, mountain climbing was a new pastime 
for the easterners, for Summerville had been well 
away from anything but low hills, and they had 
never traveled till now far from home. 

think I’ll have to give up for this morning,” 
gasped Robin, apologetically, at last. “I can find 
my way down to the house all right, and the rest 
of you can go on to see the waterfall.” For Maggie 
had told them of a pretty little cascade higher up, 
but still within the limits of their domain, where the 
brook took a leap of ten or fifteen feet over a mossy 


PING-PONG AND SUNSHINE 79 


boulder, and where the ferns grew ‘^higher than 
gran’pa’s head.’^ 

“I guess we’d better all go back,” panted Don, 
mopping his brow with a handkerchief that had 
been rent to tatters on a particularly pugnacious 
brier. ‘^The falls will keep, won’t they, Maggie? 
You mustn’t expect too much of us tenderfeet at 
first.” 

“Do your feet hurt?” asked Maggie, sympatheti- 
cally, and was much chagrined at the burst of 
laughter that greeted her innocent query. 

Scrambling down hill proved to be almost as 
breathless a performance as climbing up, and they 
were not sorry to emerge at last from the woods and 
find themselves on the gently sloping open above 
the brook meadow and the Robin’s Nest. 

But before they had really had time to recover 
their breath, they made a discovery that took it 
away again. 

“Who’s that man sitting on our porch?” asked 
Jerry, in low- voiced surprise, and everybody stared 
in the direction indicated. The long, spare, roughly 
clad figure, the white whiskers and jetty eyebrows, 
and the great black and white cat on his knee, left 
no room for doubt. It was Larry Jukes! 


CHAPTER VII 


THE STURTEVANDT PRIDE 

“The impudent old scoundrel!” exclaimed irrev- 
erent Jerry. 

“Hush, dear, he’ll hear you!” warned Robin. 

“Don’t care if he does. Guess you’ve forgotten 
how he left us in the middle of the road the night we 
came. Let’s go down and bounce him.” 

“We’ll do nothing of the sort, my son!” declared 
Don, with exasperating serenity. “I guess you^ve 
forgotten how decently he treated us on the wa}/ up 
— that is, most of the time. And if he did dump us 
into the chaparral at the end of the trip, you’ll have 
to admit it was square of him to come back and carry 
in our traps when he saw it was getting ready to rain.” 

“I’ll bet a cookie he didn’t do it!” answered Jerry, 
defiantly. 

“Oh, of course, if the little boy still believes in 
fairies — Come on, Robin!” 

Very much ruffled by this last insult to his fifteen 
years, and by what he considered his brother’s and 
sister’s lack of proper pride, Jerry turned to Maggie 
for sympathy. 

From the first these two had been growing fast 
and congenial friends, and the trace of patronizing 
80 


THE STURTEVANDT PRIDE 81 


condescension in the lad’s manner seemed rather to 
increase than to detract from Maggie’s whole-hearted 
admiration. To Jerry, used to having his whims 
and projects laughed at or frowned upon by his less 
impulsive elders, the little girl’s seconding of even 
his wildest fancies was very flattering. 

^‘YouWe with me, Peggy, aren’t you?” he asked, 
and an answering flash of a pair of eyes much like 
his, but a shade or two darker, assured him that she 
was, indeed. In fact, Maggie could not forget so 
soon an aversion taught her almost from babyhood, 
or look calmly on at the sight of grandpa’s dearest 
foe seated tranquilly on the porch of what was still, 
to her, grandpa’s house. 

So, strengthened by each other’s approval, the 
younger members of the Robin’s Nest quartet 
turned their backs on the older two and retired to 
Stubby’s shed to sulk. 

Jerry was glowering through the window at uncon- 
scious Robin and Don, who were by this time 
shaking hands with old Larry in the most disgust- 
ingly cordial fashion. 

‘H’d rather be back in New York,” the boy com- 
mented plaintively, ‘Than to have to stand by and 
see my own brother and sister toadying to that 
white-headed old villain of a trunk-dumper!” 

“I’m afraid you oughtn’t to talk so,” said Maggie, 
a little shocked at his vehemence. “And I’d like 
to know where Pd have been if you had stayed in 
New York?” 


82 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Jerry regarded his cousin thoughtfully. 

‘^That’s so,’’ he admitted. “It would have been 
awful for a Sturtevandt to go to the poor-house at 
Angel. We Sturtevandts, you know, Maggie, are 
one of the proudest families in America.” 

“What are we proud of?” inquired Maggie, won- 
dering if Great-grandma Sturtevandt’ s skill in the 
line of wax and hair had anything to do with it. 

“Why, the Sturtevandts — ” began Jerry, “the 
Sturtevandts — ” and stopped, realizing that his 
knowledge of family history was uncomfortably 
hazy. “Why shouldn’t they be proud? Tell me 
that!” he demanded suddenly, turning from the 
window to face his cousin. And then, for Jerry’s 
sense of humor was his saving grace at times, the 
corners of his mouth began to twitch, his brown eyes 
to twinkle, and he joined Maggie in a hearty laugh 
at his own expense. 

This so cleared the murky atmosphere that when, 
a minute later, Don’s voice was heard summoning 
the truants, they emerged from their retreat with 
their fierce wrath modified into a cool, polite dignity, 
intended to be very impressive. Larry Jukes, I 
regret to record, did not appear to be at all impressed, 
though a gleam of quiet amusement was apparent 
in the clear blue eyes under the jetty brows. 

“Good mornin’, young folks,” he remarked 
pleasantly. “I come over to see how y’u liked the 
far West by now. Homesick any?” 

“Not in the least, thank you,” replied Jerry, 



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THE STURTEVANDT PRIDE 83 


freezingly. ^‘Though of course California can’t 
hold a candle to ” 

“Don’t be uncivil, Jerry,” interrupted his sister, 
anxiously. “You see, Mr. Jukes, the rainy weather 
has rather soured Jerry’s disposition. I’m sure he 
won’t deny that nothing could be lovelier than Cali- 
fornia is to-day.” 

“Oh, it might be worse!” condescended Jerry. 

“Hain’t found that there straight stick o’ man- 
zanita yet, have y’u?” inquired the guest in a ban- 
tering tone that made Jerry stiffen. 

“No, sir,” replied the boy, and then a daring 
look flashed into his eyes as he added: “Nor a 
gold mine in our back yard, Mr. Jukes. “We’re 
like you — we haven’t had our fair share!” 

Don and Robin, remembering Larry’s peculiari- 
ties, caught their breath at this reckless remark, 
and even naughty Jerry wished he hadn’t been so 
rude, as he watched the genial expression fade from 
the old man’s lips and eyes, and hard, ugly lines 
come into his weather-beaten face. 

Larry rose from his seat on the steps. 

“Good mornin’,” he remarked grimly. “Tom’n 
I’ll be goin’. We’ll not bother y’u any more. 
When I got back to Twenty Rattles that there night 
I packed y’u up here, an’ heard that Johnnie 
Sturtevandt was dead, why, I felt sort o’ sorry for 
bein’ so rough, an’ I come back an’ packed in y’ur 
trunks, an’ while I was trampin’ home again, I says 
to myself that mebby we could neighbor a bit. But 


84 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


I might ’a’ knowed we couldn’t. I might ’a’ knowed 
I’d never be welcomed by any kin o’ Johnnie Stur- 
tevandt’s.” 

‘‘But you are^ Mr. Jukes!” protested Don. “We 
want you to come. We don’t know nor care what 
you and Uncle Jonathan had against each other. 
Now that he’s dead and gone, can’t you let the old 
feud die too, and forget that it ever existed?” 

“Forget? No, I — can’t — forget!” he declared 
solemnly, and as he spoke he looked past the little 
group, and his eyes rested sadly, bitterly, on the 
dark, forest-clad slopes of the “Back Yard.” “I’m 
too old to forget things, I reckon.” Then he 
added, “We’ll be goin’, Tom. Good-by.” 

Something smote Jerry’s conscience sorely as he 
watched the old man turn away and go slowly down 
the steps with wicked old Tom at his heels. Only 
the false pride which interferes with the carrying 
out of so many good impulses, kept him silent. 

It was Robin who ran after Larry, laid her hand 
entreatingly on the sleeve of his faded old coat, and 
begged him so earnestly and with so true a ring in 
her sweet voice to come back, that the hard lines 
softened involuntarily in Larry’s face, and he half 
paused, though he did not turn. 

Then at last Jerry rose to the occasion manfully. 
Following Robin down the steps, he approached 
the old man with outstretched hand and with an 
expression of genuine penitence on his face. 

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Jukes,” he said, though 


THE STURTEVANDT PRIDE 85 


it cost an effort. did try to make you mad, 

but I^m awfully ashamed of it. Do please come 
back and be friendly! We’d be very glad if you’d 
stay to dinner with us, wouldn’t we, Robin?” 

Robin gave Jerry a look of grateful approval, as 
she warmly seconded his invitation. But to her 
puzzled disappointment, Larry shook his head. 

don’t bear the boy no grudge — him nor none 
of y’u, an’ I ain’t never Had nothin’ against John- 
nie’s little girl. But I can’t stop. I reckon Johnnie 
Sturtevandt ’d turn over in his grave if he knowed 
of me eatin’ in his house.” 

Here Maggie, fired by Jerry’s good example, put 
in her word. 

“I think gran’pa would like to have you stay,” 
she said. 

Larry turned to her with a harsh laugh. 

‘‘An’ I think not! Y’ur gran’pa hated me like 
he did a rattlesnake; an’ I him,” he added fiercely. 

“I know that,” Maggie admitted; “but just the 
same, once when he was so dreadful sick, he talked 
different.” 

“What did he say?” demanded Larry Jukes. 

“Just your name, over ’n over. But he said it 
different, sort of like he wasn’t mad any more. It 
was just before he died.” 

“My whole name — was it my whole name he 
said?” asked Larry, quickly. 

“No, just ‘Larry,’” replied Maggie. 

The old prospector’s eyes sought the mountains 


86 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


again, and Robin fancied that they were clouded 
with something very like tears. 

'‘Surely you’ll stay now,” she urged gently. 

But to her deep disappointment, Larry again 
shook his head. 

"No, Missy, — y’u’re very kind, but I can’t see 
my way clear to enter Johnnie Sturtevandt’s house. 
Not now — nor never. I guess I’ll be goin’.” 

Poor Robin felt too much rebuffed to say another 
word, and Larry was starting away again, when 
Jerry came to the rescue with one of the bright ideas 
for which he was famous. 

" Mr. Jukes — oh, Mr. Jukes ! ” he shouted. " Hold 
on a second! You haven’t any objection to us, you 
say, but you won’t eat inside this house. You 
wouldn’t mind our society at a picnic, I suppose? 
We’ll eat outdoors if you’ll only stay!” 

" Of course we will — why didn’t I think of that 
before?” cried Robin. "Please stay, Mr. Jukes! 
We’re so alone, and you and Tom are our only 
acquaintances in California.” 

Larry hesitated — and was lost. Jerry seized 
Tom Quartz as a hostage, getting himself well clawed 
in consequence, and Don dragged away the still 
half reluctant guest to inspect the rickety bridge and 
the disused water-gate, and to help him plan a 
cattle-proof fence and a model garden. In the 
meantime the girls hurried joyfully indoors to get 
the picnic dinner ready before the erratic Larry 
should escape from their clutches. 


THE STURTEVANDT PRIDE 87 


After all, it was too charming a day to waste in- 
doors, and no one was inclined to complain of the 
chance that had turned their midday meal into an 
open-air feast. The impromptu luncheon was served 
in the shade of one of the big white oaks, shawls and 
cushions having been spread on the still damp 
ground. A brimming saucer of undiluted evap- 
orated cream was set for Tom, and even Stubby 
came trotting up to join the party, and to prove 
conclusively that he had no fault to find with Robin’s 
bread. 

And such a change as came over Larry Jukes! 
The last vestiges of anger and bitterness had van- 
ished. The blue eyes twinkled merrily or flashed 
with excitement as, in his deep, musical voice, the 
old Californian told one wild tale after another, or 
sang quaint songs to a fascinated audience. 

The afternoon was half over when Larry rose at 
last and whistled to Tom Quartz. 

^^Must you go?” asked Robin, regretfully. 

^^But you’ll surely come often, now,” urged Don. 

‘^We can eat outdoors any day, well as not,” 
insisted Jerry, who had by this time utterly forgotten 
the trunk-dumping episode and the proper pride of 
the Sturtevandts. 


That evening Don and Robin were sitting by a 
glowing fire in the living-room, for the Sierran eve- 
nings are nearly always cool. Jerry and Maggie 


88 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


were washing up the tea things in the kitchen, 
with a merry clatter and more or less good-natured 
squabbling over dish mops and towels. 

‘^Well, Sis,’’ inquired Don, ^^what do you think 
of our neighbor?” 

Larry Jukes? I — don’t — know,” mused 
his sister. ^^He’s certainly interesting, and as cer- 
tainly a mystery. I wish we knew ” 

‘‘But we don’t, and I fancy we never shall,” 
replied Don, studying the fire. “ Even Maggie doesn’t 
know what it was between him and Uncle Jonathan 
that he can’t forgive.” 

“Or else that he can’t forget,” suggested Robin. 
“I’m not certain, Don; sometimes it seems to me as 
if he might have something on his own conscience. 
There’s been a hunted, desperate look in his eyes, 
just for a flash, once or twice. Haven’t you noticed 
it?” 

But Don had to admit that he hadn’t. 

“It’s too much for me. I never was good at 
solving riddles. I guess we’ll have to leave this one 
to time to solve.” 

And since time seems the only detective likely to 
unravel for them or for us the mystery of Larry 
Jukes, suppose we follow the wise example of the 
Robin’s Nest household, and turn our attention, 
for the present at least, to other things. 

When Jerry and Maggie came in from the kitchen, 
the evening was spent in lively planning for the 
work that must now begin in earnest if this stopping- 


THE STURTEVANDT PRIDE 89 


place in the wilderness was really to be made into 
a home worthy of the name. 

“To-morrow we must do this,” and “To-morrow 
we must see to that,” came so often into the con- 
versation, that lazy Jerry finally groaned aloud in 
apprehended weariness. 

“I begin to wish the old saying about to-morrow 
never coming was true,” he remarked pathetically. 

Don glanced at the clock. 

“ItT come before wehe half ready for it if we 
don’t turn in pretty soon, Jerry. I move we go up 
aloft and let these girls get to bed. ” 

And the motion for adjournment was carried 
without so much as a yawn of dissent. 


CHAPTER VIII 


HOME-MAKING 

The next few weeks were full to the brim, and 
passed swiftly and happily away. Don and Jerry 
found that their boyish apprenticeship on the old 
home farm at Summerville was of great value to 
them now, and in spite of some tragic blunders and 
many amusing ones, the ranch began under their 
hands to assume a prosperous and homelike appear- 
ancCo Robin and Maggie relegated all housework, 
except the necessary meal-providing, to the occa- 
sional rainy days, and grew tanned and hearty help- 
ingi at all sorts of light tasks out of doors. 

Larry Jukes, whose duties at Twenty Rattles 
did not appear to be very confining, came over often 
to give the benefit of his advice and assistance, and 
it was through him that the boys secured a few days’ 
valuable help from a slender, wiry Swiss-Italian lad 
who hailed from a fabulous region known as “over 
Grizzly Gap way.” 

When the garden plot had been pronounced ab- 
solutely cattle-proof within its barricade of rails 
and murderous barbed wire, the whole energy of 
the family was directed toward planting the gar- 
den. Csesar Silveroli was dispatched over the hills 

90 


HOME-MAKING 


91 


to borrow his father’s plow and harrow, and when 
he returned, Stubby was harnessed and put to work. 
Stubby had been a gentleman of leisure for so long 
that he was inclined at first to rebel, and it took the 
whole family in combined effort to persuade him 
to do his part. Jerry asserted that it would have 
been about as easy to spade the acre or two of ground 
themselves as it was to drag the obstinate little beast 
to his hated task. 

After the plowing came the planting, and then 
the days of anxious waiting to see whether things 
would really come up. Some of the seeds for which 
they had sent to Angel Flat were already sprouting 
in boxes and nearly ready to transplant. ’ Pease, 
beans, lettuce, radishes and onions were soon com- 
ing up in long green rows of promise, and so zealous 
a watch did the young agriculturists keep over 
the progress of their garden, that Larry declared 
they knew their plantlets individually, and could tell 
precisely how many new leaves had unfolded on 
each over night. 

Caesar, taking a friendly interest in affairs at the 
Robin’s Nest Ranch, came over one evening with 
a big basketful of treasures, roots of rhubarb and 
garden herbs, a few tomato plants, and some sturdy 
young hop vines to plant about the porch for 
shade. 

Robin had not forgotten the flower seeds which 
she had brought with her, and already her sweet- 
pease and nasturtiums, pansies and asters and mi- 


92 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


gnonette, were well above ground and doing their 
best to grow fast and reward her loving devotion. 

When the garden was well under way and before 
the weeds had begun to keep them busy, Don and 
Jerry spent a number of days improving the appear- 
ance of the place; patching Stubby's tumble-down 
shed into quite an elegant mansion; making bon- 
fires of the odds and ends of rubbish that had 
accumulated about Uncle Jonathan's back door; 
thinning the underbrush and trimming the trees, 
cutting the grass, and doing the hundred and one 
things that would have seemed foolishness to an 
easy-going, shiftless mountaineer, but which were 
counted indispensable by the children of thrifty 
New England. 

Up to this time there had been no live stock, save 
Stubby, on the ranch, but one Sunday afternoon 
Larry Jukes strolled over the bridge and up the 
drive, with mystery on his face and on his arm a 
covered basket. This he handed to Robin, and the 
others gathered around to watch as she raised the 
lid. 

“Cluck — cluck — cluck!" came from within in 
indignant protest. 

“Oh, boys, it's a hen! A dear, old, motherly 
Plymouth Rock hen!" and then, as Robin put in her 
hand to stroke soothingly the soft, speckled back, 
first one and then another little downy head was 
poked curiously out from under the sheltering wings. 

“They's fifteen of 'em," explained Larry, proudly. 


HOME-MAKING 


93 


^^She just come off this morning. IVe got three 
more a-settin’, so I thought I’d just pack her an’ her 
fambly right along over here. Y’u’re very welcome 
— don’t say no more about it,” he added protest- 
ingly, embarrassed by their expressions of gratitude. 
The next day a roomy coop was manufactured out 
of a box, and Madam Plymouth Rock settled down 
to housekeeping in the most contented way. 

Jerry was responsible for the next addition to the 
live stock of the ranch. One morning he and Stubby 
departed in the direction of the Silveroli ranch on 
some mysterious errand which they refused to 
divulge. It was nearly supper time when they 
returned, and Don and Robin were waiting rather 
anxiously at the bridge when they came in sight. 

‘‘What in the world ” began Robin in puzzled 

tones, but Don’s shout of amusement interrupted 
her question. 

Stubby was wandering along very much as he 
chose, both his rider’s arms being more than occu- 
pied with their struggling, kicking burden. 

“It’s a pig!” cried Robin, as the boy and the 
burro drew nearer. “A live pig, Don! What- 
ever shall we do with it?” 

“Feed it on condensed cream at ten cents a meal,” 
Don replied resignedly. 

But poor Jerry was so elated over his purchase 
and so confident that the four bits he had spent was 
well invested, that the others hadn’t the heart to 
laugh at him. 


94 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


We’ll feed him on scraps from the table, you 
know,” explained Jerry; ‘^and as soon as he’s a 
little bigger, we can turn him loose and he’ll live on 
roots and acorns and things. That’s what the 
Silverolis do with their pigs. They snip their ears 
so they can tell them from other people’s — just 
like branding ponies.” 

Who’s going to do the snipping in this case?” 
asked Robin, with a little shudder. 

Jerry is, of course,” replied Don. “Run, get 
your scissors. Sis, and I’ll hold his pigship while 
Jerry snips.” 

As was to have been expected, soft-hearted Jerry 
fairly turned pale at the thought. Silveroli pigs with 
ears already snipped were one thing, and an Arnold 
pig with soft pink ears waiting meekly to be lacerated 
was quite another. 

“I’ll tell you what,” he suggested, thankfully 
clutching at a straw, “we’ll put a strap around his 
neck for a collar. That’ll identify him!” 

“Bright ideal” exclaimed Don. “And we’ll tie 
a red ribbon on the strap, just to make sure. I’m 
willing to wager there won’t be another pig like him 
in the Sierras.” 

But Jerry was not to be dissuaded from his plan 
by Don’s teasing. With Master Pig squealing in 
his arms, he departed in search of a strap. 

Whether or not it was the refining influence of the 
crimson bow which Jerry’s pet henceforth wore, I 
cannot attempt to say, but certain it is that Oliver 


HOME-MAKING 


95 


Twist — it was his habit of calling for more, and 
the quirk to his tail, that earned him his name — 
developed into a model for his racOc In the first 
place, he was that apparent contradiction — a pig 
with no leaning toward mud-holes and leisure. He 
spent his time rambling over the mountain-sides, 
grunting cheerfully to himself, occasionally sprawl- 
ing in some open, rocky place to bask in the hot 
sun and possibly to dream of the curly-tailed brothers 
and sisters he had left squealing and squabbling in the 
Silveroli sty. At meal time he invariably came 
home, grunting joyful greeting to his owners, and 
reeking with the aromatic odor of the tar-weed 
through which he had been roaming. He followed 
Jerry about like a dog, and would have come into 
the house gladly if Robin had not made and enforced 
an iron-clad rule against his admission. 

“Now if we only had a cow,” said Jerry, one 
evening, “our ranch would be complete.” 

“My happiness would be complete, at any rate,” 
responded Robin. “I can’t help it, boys. I know 
you think I’m fastidious, but I can’t learn to like this 
milk that comes in cans.” 

“I can’t learn to like to pay for it. It’s awful, the 
way a case goes in no time. I believe Jerry feeds it 
to his beloved pig on the sly,” complained Don, 
who, as financial manager of the home-making 
enterprise, had anxieties of his own. 

Jerry scorned to reply to his brother’s insinuation, 
but remarked thoughtfully: — 


96 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


“We might buy a cow, Don. It wouldn’t be a 
bad investment. By turning the water on the grass 
this side of the brook occasionally, we could keep a 
fairly good pasture all summer, for Larry says the 
spring that feeds that brook of ours never goes 
dry. And with the scythe we could cut a lot of grass 
along the river valley, now, before it dries up. Cows 
eat hay, I suppose.” 

“Yes,” said Robin, “and we could plant carrots 
and things for her in our garden, and when our 
sweet corn grows big enough to use, she could have 
the stalks and leaves for fodder.” 

“I do believe it would be economy, Don,” declared 
Jerry, eagerly. “It wouldn’t only save our buying 
condensed milk, but we could make our own butter 
instead of buying this expensive creamery stuQ 
from Minersville. And if we had more skim milk 
than we could use, we could get another pig or two 
and fatten them to sell.” 

“You’re very plausible, Jerry,” said Don, “but 
there’s one difficulty about your plan.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Simply that we can’t possibly afford to buy a 
cow now. We’re running awfuUy low in funds, old 
man, and we can’t go into even a good investment 
until we have a little more money to invest.” 

“And where’s that coming from, I’d like to 
know?” queried Jerry, despairingly. 

“Oh, I’m not discouraged — don’t get that idea,” 
protested Don, cheerfully. “We’ll pull through 


HOME-MAKING 


97 


some way, though it may be hard sliding for a year 
or two. Larry says if our garden does well, he’s 
sure we can sell all the truck we can’t use to the 
boarding-house at Twenty Rattles. And this fall 
I mean to put in some fruit trees and berry bushes 
and currants, — yes, and a strawberry bed. It will 
decrease our expenses and increase our income to 
have fruit on the ranch.” 

But in the meantime, have we money enough to 
last us through the summer, Don?” 

“ I can tell you exactly how much we have, Robin. ” 
The boy drew a note-book from his pocket, opened 
it, did a little mental calculation, and announced: 
‘‘We have, here and in the bank at Minersville, 
just ninety-three dollars and forty-seven cents.” 

“But, Don,” exclaimed Robin, in surprise, “that’s 
ever so much more than I thought! I’m sure you 
told me there was less than a hundred several weeks 
ago, and we’ve had to buy a lot of provisions since 
then, beside paying Caesar for the work he did. 
Had you made a mistake?” 

“No, Sis, I hadn’t made a mistake. I suppose I 
might as well tell you what I’ve done, though I’d 
rather not.” If Don had been stealing money to 
swell their fund he could hardly have looked more 
embarrassed. There are certain natures, and Don’s 
was one of them, that find it harder to confess a 
generous action than a mean or selfish one. “I 
just sold something that belonged to me, that’s all.” 

“What was it, dear?’' asked Robin, much puzzled. 


98 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


“My stamp book,” said Don. “I got twenty 
dollars for it.” 

“Not really, Don? Say, you’re an old brick!” 
cried Jerry, but Robin’s eyes filled with sudden 
tears. 

“You oughtn’t to have done it, you dear, good 
boy,” she said, laying her arm lovingly about his 
shoulders. The three were resting together in the 
twilight on the steps of the porch, and she was sitting 
just above him. “You had worked for years over 
your collection, and it was worth far more than 
twenty dollars to you.” 

“No it wasn’t; not now,” maintained Don, stoutly. 
“I did rather hate to see the old thing go, but I 
haven’t had a regret since; at least,” he added truth- 
fully, “I haven’t yet wished that I hadn’t done it.” 

“Who bought it?” asked Jerry. 

“Some agent in New York. I wrote to Mr. 
Smedley to know if he could sell it for me, and the 
letter I had from him last week enclosed a check 
and told me to send it along at once.” 

“That’s why you wouldn’t show me the letter! I 
wondered what was in it! Don, if we ever get 
rich ” 

But before Robin had had time to tell what would 
happen when the Arnold family’s ship came in, there 
came an interruption. Maggie, who had wandered 
down along the river to see if she could catch a 
trout or two for supper, came flying up the drive in 
evident excitement. 


CHAPTER IX 


‘‘windfall’’ 

“Oh, come quick, everybody!” Maggie was 
shouting. “There’s a poor little calf down by the 
river, that can’t walk. I reckon it’s broke its leg!” 

The others jumped up at once, and hurried after 
her down the grassy wagon track. 

It was several weeks now since the cattle from 
“down Minersville way” had been brought up and 
turned loose in the mountains, and the Arnolds had 
grown used to the monotonous, musical tinkle of the 
cow-bells, growing fainter or louder as the herd 
roamed farther away or nearer. 

The injured calf was found hobbling painfully 
and slowly through the chaparral, bleating pitifully 
after its mother. The latter, puzzled, but unwilling 
to wait, pushed on through the underbrush, lowing 
impatiently to her little one to follow, for the tin- 
kling bells of the herd were going ever farther and 
farther away down the river. 

“Poor little thing!” cried Robin, pityingly. 
“That cruel mother will be out of its sight in a 
minute more. Go and drive her back, Jerry, do!” 

“Don’t you suppose she would come back of her 
own accord when she saw the calf really wasn’t 

99 


1. OFC. 


100 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


coming?’’ asked Don, while Jerry and Maggie 
departed as quietly as possible to head off the 
deserting parent. 

“ Maybe she would, but only to keep urging it along. 
I suppose she can’t understand what the trouble is, 
and she knows she ought to join the herd.” 

It was evident enough that the calf had been hurt 
by a fall, for one of its red and white sides was cov- 
ered with mud. There were enough rugged, pre- 
cipitous places along the river bed to account easily 
for such an accident. It had given up the struggle 
now, and was lying down in discouragement. Don 
went up to it quietly, rubbed its soft neck with a 
reassuring touch, and began to feel quietly down 
along the injured leg. 

'Ht isn’t broken, I think,” he announced to Robin, 
who stood looking on. “It’s just badly cut and 
bruised, and sprained, too, I dare say, here at the 
joint where it’s so swollen.” 

“What shall we do with it, Don? We can’t 
leave it here to die.” 

“If it were mine, I should say the kindest thing 
would be to shoot it ; but of course we don’t want to 
take the matter into our own hands like that.” 

“We might take it home and nurse it till it’s well 
again,” Robin suggested. 

“And feed it on evaporated cream?” asked Don. 
“We’ve adopted a child, and a donkey, and a hen, 
and a pig, already, Robin. I think a calf would 
just about finish us financially.” 


“WINDFALL’’ 


101 


“I know you’re right, Don, but ” 

“Clear the track!” shouted a triumphant voice 
from the chaparral. “We’ll see about this child- 
deserting business! So, there, old lady, don’t step 
on my heels!” 

And Jerry emerged from the underbrush, not 
driving, but leading the docile mother by one of her 
shapely horns. 

“I didn’t have a bit of trouble catching her. She 
must have been a pet,” explained the boy. “Now 
where’s her infant?” 

“M-a-a-a-a-!” bleated the baby, pleadingly, 
trying its best to get to its feet. 

“What shall we do, Don?” cried Robin, in 
distress. 

“Do!” exclaimed Jerry. “Why, there’s only one 
thing to be done, of course. I’ve sent Maggie for a 
rope and we’re going to take Madam Cow and her 
spoiled child up to Stubby’s shed and leave them 
there for the night. To-morrow we can see what is 
to be done.” 

Jerry’s suggestion seemed so sensible that it was 
adopted at once. Maggie came hurrying back with 
a rope, which was tied around the mother’s tawny 
neck. The calf was gently helped to its feet, and 
encouraged to limp, slowly and painfully, after its 
mother up the slope to Stubby’s shed, where a bed 
of dried grass was spread for it to lie upon. By 
this time darkness had set in, and after shutting 
and fastening the door of the shed, and explaining 


102 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


to Stubby that he must, in the interests of hospitality, 
do the best he could outdoors that night, the young 
people trooped indoors to eat their supper, and talk 
over the incident. 

When they went out next morning to see how 
their unexpected guests had passed the night, they 
found the calf still lying on the straw, evidently 
unable or unwilling to rise. 

“It won’t even get up for its breakfast, Robin,” 
said Don. “Just see how full of milk the poor 
mother’s bag is! It’s bad for her to go without 
milking.” 

“Can’t you milk, Don?” asked Jerry. 

“I never tried but once, and that time I didn’t 
make a howling success of it; but my hands are 
stronger now. At least I can try. Run in and get 
the tin pail, won’t you, Jerry, while I cut some grass 
for her to eat.” 

The pretty Jersey did not seem to object in the 
least to her captivity, and while she stood quietly 
munching the green grass Don had brought her, he, 
with some misgivings, undertook to milk her. He 
soon found his hands growing tired at the unaccus- 
tomed task, but he persevered until every drop of the 
rich, warm milk was in his pail, filling it nearly 
full. 

“Now, then, baby, take your breakfast lying 
down, since you’re so luxurious,” he remarked, 
carrying the pail across to the bed of hay where 
the calf was lying. The latter looked up at him 


‘^WINDFALL’’ 


103 


with big, soft eyes, bleated a pathetic little ‘‘M-a-a-!’^ 
but made no attempt to drink. 

“Is it too sick, do you think?’’ asked Jerry. 

“I don’t believe so. I think it’s just that it has 
never learned to take its meals second hand. We’ll 
have to teach it.” 

After a few minutes’ coaxing and explaining, the 
little creature was persuaded to dip its nose into the 
pail and try. Perhaps bumps and bruises are 
destructive to appetite. At any rate, the calf, in 
spite of urging, drank hardly a quart of its breakfast. 
“I’ve had plenty, thank you,” it insisted, plainly 
enough, turning its fawn-like head from side to side, 
to avoid the pail which was being thrust upon it. 

“My!” exclaimed Don, regretfully. “If I’d 
known you hadn’t any more appetite than that I’d 
never have let you stick your nose into that whole 
pailful. I wouldn’t have minded a bowl of real 
milk for my own breakfast, would you, Robin?” 

“Oliver Twist will have to have what’s left — 
lucky dog!” said Jerry. And Oliver Twist got it, 
except for a little that was saved in case the calf 
should change its mind before Nature had provided 
a fresh supply. 

After his own breakfast, Don hurried up the mile 
of river road that lay between the Robin’s Nest and 
Larry Jukes’ shack. Finding that the old man was 
at home and not busy, he brought him back to 
examine the injured calf and suggest what was to be 
done with it. 


104 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


After a hasty examination of the injured leg, 
Larry expressed his opinion pointedly. 

“All right for veal — not much good any other 
ways. ’’ 

“But we can’t kill him, Mr. Jukes,” said Don. 
“That’s out of the question.” 

“We haven’t any right to — it isn’t our calf,” 
said Jerry. 

“Right! Right!” exclaimed Larry, fiercely. 
“Y’u’re always talkin’ about things y’u don’t know 
nothin’ about. Possession’s nine points o’ the law. 
Kill the critter an’ eat it, an’ say nothin’ to nobody. 
What’s a calf more or less to the owner of a herd? 
An’ don’t they pasture their beasts on our moun- 
tains half the year? Tell me that!” 

“Let’s not discuss the matter, Mr. Jukes,” put 
in Robin, quickly. “My brothers and I are quite 
agreed that we have no right to kill the little thing 
if there’s a chance of its getting well. We sent 
for you, thinking you might know what to do for 
it. Don’t you? Couldn’t we fix its poor little 
leg?” 

Larry’s bad temper subsided, as it usually did 
when Robin spoke. He began to examine the 
hurt leg more closely, and said he didn’t know but 
it might get well, if the calf were kept quiet and not 
dragged over the mountains by its mother. With 
Don’s help he washed and dressed the cuts and 
bruises, bandaging one ugly wound that had started 
in afresh to bleed. After the treatment, the patient 


^^WINDFALL” 


105 


seemed so willing to lie quiet on its bed, that the 
prospect for its recovery grew quite encouraging. 

‘^And now,” said Don, as the party walked back 
toward the house, ^‘what’s going to be done with 
the cow? We can’t take care of the calf without 
her assistance, that’s sure.” 

“Why can’t we picket her out with a long rope 
daytimes, and keep her in the shed nights?” asked 
Jerry. “Her owner couldn’t possibly object to 
that. She’ll be enough sight better off than roam- 
ing the mountains and beginning to starve as soon 
as the dry weather begins.” 

“I really can’t see,” pondered Don, “that there 
would be anything out of the way in our keeping 
them all summer, or at least as long as we’ve any 
kind of fodder. Then if there’s more milk than 
the calf needs, I see no good reason why we shouldn’t 
use it in return for what we’ve done. That’s fair, 
isn’t it?” 

“Fair!” exclaimed Larry, “o’ course it’s fair. 
An’ let me tell y’u that that there calf will learn to 
eat grass its own self pretty soon, an’ then y’u can 
have all the milk. The cow would just go dry if 
she was left to roam, but if she’s milked reg’lar, 
she’ll give y’u milk all summer. An’ in the fall, 
when the herd is drove down below again, y’u can 
just turn her loose an’ she’ll join ’em, her an’ her 
young ’un. An’ I’ll bet Tom Quartz’ whiskers 
that they’ll be the best lookin’ critters in the bunch 
by then!” 


106 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Indeed there was something so providential in 
the way the longed-for cow had been supplied, that 
it would have seemed ungrateful, as well as foolish, 
to refuse to follow out Larry’s suggestion. Stubby 
was therefore permanently exiled from the shed, 
where, to tell truth, he had spent few hours out of 
the twenty-four; the grass was harvested for a 
considerable distance up and down stream; and 
Madam Cow and her red and white son became 
established and valued residents of the Robin’s 
Nest Ranch. The calf recovered rapidly, but 
neither it nor its mother showed any desire to break 
loose and stray away from the pleasant home they 
had found. When the hot, dry weeks began, and 
green things became harder and harder to find, the 
herd from which the cow and calf had become sepa- 
rated wandered farther and farther back into the 
range in search of forage, and, for a while, the 
monotonous tinkle of cow-bells was hushed. 

‘^Windfall,” as every one agreed she should be 
named, proved to be an excellent milker, and one 
great problem of their subsistence was solved, to 
the relief of Don’s financial anxiety and the rescue 
of Robin’s appetite. Robin managed to accumu- 
late enough cream to make butter at least once every 
week: enough, with economy, to supply their needs. 
And in spite of this, and of an occasional skim-milk 
treat to Oliver Twist, the little calf whose timely 
accident had resulted so happily, prospered and 
waxed fat. 


WINDFALL’’ 


107 


At first Robin tried to persuade Larry Jukes to 
take from them what milk he could use, but he 
refused absolutely. He didn’t like cow’s milk — 
couldn’t go it, he explained. He’d used the canned 
variety so many years that the real thing tasted 
queer to him. And as Tom Quartz, too, evinced 
this strange preference, a supply of evaporated 
cream was kept on hand against the rare occasions 
when Jonathan Sturtevandt’s young relatives enter- 
tained his ancient enemy outside the never-to-be- 
crossed threshold of the Robin’s Nest. 


CHAPTER X 


JERRY GOES PROSPECTING 

“Jerry, I guess we’ll see about that water-gate 
this morning. It needs some tinkering, and we 
ought to have it in good shape before it comes time 
to irrigate our garden.” Don critically examined 
the edge of a saw as he spoke. “And if you have 
time,” he went on, “you might sharpen the ax and 
slice a few chips off the old pitch-pine. Robin’s 
kindling box is low.” 

Waiting in vain for his brother’s usual good- 
natured grumble of protest, Don looked up 
inquiringly. Jerry’s face wore an expression of 
unflinching determination. 

“Thanks awfully, Mr. Slave-driver, but I’m 
going to take a day off. We can’t possibly need 
to turn the water on our garden yet awhile, and 
Robin’s got chips enough to last a month — till 
to-morrow, anyway. I’ve got some business of my 
own to attend to this morning.” 

“Such as what?” asked Don. 

“Business of my awnV^ emphasized Jerry, with 
dignity. “Avoid curiosity, Donnie. It’s unbe- 
coming in one so young. I’ll be back for supper, 
at the latest, and it’s just possible that I may have 
108 


JERRY GOES PROSPECTING 109 


something to say by then.’' With this he turned 
on his heel and went into the house, whence he 
presently emerged with his fishing-rod in his hand 
and with a paper-wrapped parcel peeping out of 
one coat pocket and Robin’s tack-hammer out of 
the other. 

“Whatever you do, Jerry, don’t bring us another 
pig!” Don shouted after his brother, as the latter 
strode down the road toward the bridge. 

“And do be careful not to get lost!” cried Robin, 
from the doorway. 

A scornful silence was Jerry’s only reply to these 
needless warnings, as he crossed the bridge and 
disappeared among the alders. 

“What do you suppose the crazy boy is up to now, 
Don?” asked the crazy boy’s sister, with an amused 
little frown wrinkling her brow. But Don cau- 
tiously refused to venture an opinion. 


After crossing the bridge, Jerry turned to the 
right, and, striking into a thicket of azaleas and 
willows, followed the winding course of the river 
for a mile or more downstream. There was no 
trail to guide him, save an almost overgrown cow- 
path, and his progress was slow and difficult. The 
gay, dancing ripples of the Mercedes outstripped 
him easily, laughing musically past as they left him 
distanced in the underbrush. The May morning 
was hot, now that the sun was well above the moun- 


no 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


tains, and Jerry’s hair clung in damp disorder to his 
forehead and his tanned cheeks were flushed with 
exertion when at last he came out into an open glade 
a hundred yards or more across, where the river grew 
suddenly sedate and paused to linger and dream 
awhile in a deep basin it had carved from its rocky 
bed. Green grass sloped down before him, quite 
to the margin of the stream. One great live-oak 
spread its broad evergreen branches over the calm 
pool, and farther down the stream a clump of 
azaleas leaned close over the crystal mirror, as if to 
admire the exquisite pink of the blossom-clus- 
ters with which they were adorned. So clear was 
the water of the pool that the smooth pebbles at the 
bottom shimmered in the sunlight as if the bed of 
the stream were paved with jewels, and darting 
fishes gleamed by in silvery flashes. This was one 
of the finest trout pools in the river, as Jerry had 
discovered a week before. He had no intention of 
going home without a fine string of trout for supper. 
However, fishing was only a side issue to-day. 
Weightier business had brought Jerry Arnold to 
this beautiful, solitary spot. 

Laying his rod on the grass under the live-oak 
he turned round slowly, searching minutely with 
his eyes the edge of the woods that sloped down on 
every side to this sunny little open. Nothing stirred. 
The barking of a fox far down the ravine and the 
piping of a covey of quail high up on the mountain 
slope across the stream, seemed only to intensify 


JERRY GOES PROSPECTING 111 


the silence. Jerry was quite satisfied that there 
was no other human being within a mile of the place. 
Following the margin of the river to a point just 
above the group of blossoming azaleas, he walked 
cautiously across a half decayed log to the opposite 
bank. 

This shore was not smooth and grassy like the 
one he had left. Great granite boulders jostled 
one another, and the spaces between them were 
filled with sand, fragments of rock, and drift that 
the spring freshets had cast there. 

Jerry picked his way carefully among these giant 
cobblestones, his eyes searching the ground. Then 
he stopped short, with a low ejaculation of satisfac- 
tion, and dropped to his knees beside an outcropping 
ledge of rather peculiar-looking rock. Among the 
grays and blues and whites of granite, slate, and 
quartz, this ledge stood out conspicuously, for it 
was of a dull red color, and the sunlight, falling full 
upon it, was caught and reflected in a thousand tiny 
flashes. 

Jerry had discovered this rock one afternoon a 
week before, when he had been at the pool, fishing, 
and it had been haunting his memory ever since. 
He had been waiting only an opportunity to come 
back and examine it by daylight, for the sun had 
been well behind the western buttes on the occasion 
when he had come upon it. 

What if it should prove to be gold! That was 
the thought that had been in his mind all the week. 


112 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


What if he had discovered a mine that would restore 
the fortunes of the Arnold family! 

Jerry was not fond of money for its own sake. 
To tell the truth, he had always had an easy, lavish 
manner of disposing of all that came into his hands 
that had made his elders shake their heads and regret 
that he had no proper appreciation of its value. 
But just now its usefulness and great desirability 
appealed to him as it never had done before. As 
often happens, he had learned to appreciate a bless- 
ing only by its loss. 

Oh, what a host of anxieties it would put to rest 
if he could suddenly fatten the family pocket-book 
by a little contribution of — well, let us be modest, 
— a thousand dollars, or two, or three! 

Jerry knew that Don was fretting about their 
affairs, for though he never spoke to his brother or 
sister in anything but his usual hopeful way, he 
would often toss and mutter in his sleep, and more 
than once Jerry had caught disjointed sentences 
that showed how heavily the unaccustomed burden 
of responsibility was lying on the lad’s young 
shoulders. 

Then there was Robin, brave Robin, whose sunny 
cheerfulness never failed, and who was daily per- 
forming many a hard and uncongenial task. Jerry 
had watched rebelliously the roughening of the 
pretty white hands that were so much better suited 
to winning sweet music from the keys of the old 
piano of Summerville days than to scrubbing the 


JERRY GOES PROSPECTING 113 


uncarpeted floors of the Robin’s Nest, or wringing 
his and Don’s shirts out of tubfuls of scalding suds. 
To Jerry’s leisurely, pleasure-loving nature, the 
sacrifices Robin had had to make seemed far more 
serious than they did to her. Save for an occasional 
hour of worry or homesickness, she was very happy 
in her new home, and would have laughed at her 
brother had she dreamed he was pitying her. 

Irresponsible and indolent though Jerry certainly 
was, he was none the less warm-hearted and gen- 
erous, and all the first floor of the air castle he had 
been founding on a ledge of reddish rock was planned 
for his brother and sister, with a nice little chamber 
for Maggie, filled with books and dolls and pretty 
frocks, and all the bright things that had been left 
out of her lonely mountain childhood. But, after 
comfortably establishing his relatives, Jerry had 
proceeded to add a tower or two for his own private 
occupancy. These apartments were furnished with 
what might have seemed to an unsympathetic out- 
sider a rather confusing and disorderly array of 
rifles and rods, tennis racquets and golf sticks, banjos 
and boxing-gloves, and complete sets of the works 
of his favorite authors. And the dining-room of 
this notable structure was provided with viands for 
which his fastidious soul had been yearning during 
the weeks that his honest boyish appetite had had to 
satisfy itself with plain and monotonous fare. 

Jerry felt that he knew a good deal about mining 
matters. He had talked with Larry Jukes on the 


114 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


subject frequently, and he had studied the specimens 
of rock with which Uncle Jonathan had left the 
mantel heaped. One reason, indeed, for Jerry’s 
confidence that there was something worth while 
about this discovery of his, was the fact that among 
the specimens that his great-uncle had collected 
was one small piece, labeled: ^‘Oxidized ore from 
Twenty Rattles, ” that was in color exceedingly like 
this ledge. 

Jerry’s faith in his mine had waxed so great dur- 
ing the past few days of brooding over possibilities, 
that his eyes were shining with excitement, and his 
hands shaking with eagerness now, as he bent to 
examine more closely the red outcrop. Taking 
Robin’s little hammer from his pocket, he struck a 
projecting edge till a fragment cracked off and fell 
into his hand. 

But before he had had time to glance at it, he 
was startled suddenly to his feet, and hammer and 
specimen fell among the stones with a great clatter. 

‘‘Hello!” said an unfamiliar, but not unfriendly 
voice across the river. 


CHAPTER XI 


AND MAKES A STRIKE 

Jerry’s first thought was that some one had 
followed and spied upon him, and he whirled angrily 
on the intruder, but a glance was enough to convince 
him that his suspicions were groundless. The young 
man who reclined lazily on the grass across the river, 
with an open book and a fishing-rod near his elbow, 
had evidently just awakened from a sound nap. 
He must have been there all the time, but the clump 
of azaleas behind which he lay had completely 
screened him at the time of Jerry’s preliminary 
survey. 

‘‘Out prospecting?” yawned the stranger, eye- 
ing Jerry with sleepy curiosity. “I think you must 
have spoiled my nap, slamming away with your 
hammer at that old mica ledge.” 

“That old — what?” demanded Jerry, faintly, 
but defiantly. And then, somehow, his air castle 
came down with such a crash that it was a wonder 
if the young man across the river didn’t hear the 
racket. Perhaps he did catch a far echo from the 
catastrophe. At any rate, he sat up with a wider- 
awake expression in his eyes and studied Jerry more 
closely than he had done before, 

115 


116 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


‘‘Suppose you come on over here and tell me 
what’s up,” he suggested pleasantly. “I’m For- 
rest — engineer at Twenty Rattles. And I don’t 
loaf for a living, you understand. I’m just taking 
a day off.” 

Jerry crossed his precarious bridge and shook 
hands with Mr. Forrest, who had in the meantime 
gotten to his feet. 

“And I’m Jerry Arnold, from the Robin’s Nest 
Ranch, if you know where that is.” 

Mr. Forrest frowned down at Jerry in a puzzled 
way. 

“I can’t say that I do. Near here, is it?” 

“’Bout a mile back up this river. It’s where 
John Sturtevandt used to live.” 

“Oh!” The puzzled look gave place to one of 
amused interest. “I guess maybe I do know some- 
thing about the Robin’s Nest, after all, but Larry 
Jukes never told me its name. You came from 
the East, didn’t you? And isn’t there a sister? 
Larry always waxes so vaguely eloquent when he 
gets to her, that my impressions aren’t at all clear.” 

Jerry was not in the habit of opening his heart to 
strangers or discussing his affairs with them. In fact, 
even with Don and Robin he was often reserved to 
the point of reticence concerning things about which 
he felt most deeply. Therefore it was something 
of a shock to himself, half an hour later, to find that 
he had been talking to this tall young man with the 
thoughtful, humorous eyes, as to a bosom friend of 


AND MAKES A STRIKE 


117 


long standing. He became suddenly embarrassed, 
and broke off abruptly, with an apologetic: — 

don’t know why I’m telling you all this stuff. 
I guess because you kept still and acted sort of 
interested. It’s your own fault if you’ve been bored 
to death.” 

Mr. Forrest smiled. ^‘You needed a safety-valve, 
and I happened along — that’s how it came about. 
But you needn’t regret having made a confidant of 
me,” he added soberly. “I’ve known, too, what 
it was to be left alone in the world, and I wasn’t so 
lucky as you, by a long shot, Jerry Arnold. I just 
had to hustle around and get what I could out of life 
for myself, after my father died. I never had a 
brother or sister to stand by me.” 

“Come over and live with us at the Robin’s Nest, 
and I’ll let you have part of Don and Robin!” cried 
Jerry, with all the reckless hospitality for which he 
was famous. 

Jerry’s new friend laughed — a merry, boyish 
laugh that went to prove its owner not so many 
years Jerry’s senior — a dozen at the very outside. 

“Not so fast, young man! Your brother and 
sister might have a thing or two to say about your 
adopting a new member into the family without 
consulting them. And how do you know that I 
wouldn’t disgrace you all? Maybe I’m a rascal 
in disguise!” 

Jerry raised a pair of critical dark eyes to For- 
rest’s gray ones, and the two studied each other 


118 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


in silence for a moment. Then Jerry remarked 
thoughtfully: — 

‘H don’t know how I know that you’re all right, 
but I do. And I’m positive Don and Robin would 
like to have you come to see us, anyway, — if you 
want to, that is.” 

do want to very badly, if you’re quite sure — ” 

“Sure?” interrupted Jerry. “Of course I’m sure. 
Robin’s always tickled to death to see my friends, 
and Don’s such a sensible old chap that I know he’d 
like you down to the ground!” Here Jerry giggled 
reminiscently. “There’s only one fellow I ever 
took home that they weren’t precisely cordial to — 
that was Oliver.” 

“Oliver — who?” asked the other, looking a 
little concerned, as if fearing that his reception might 
be like the unfortunate Oliver’s. 

“Oh, I’ll introduce you to him some day. He 
stayed, you see, and Don and Robin are quite recon- 
ciled to him now!” That was all the satisfaction 
Jerry would give. 

The warm spring afternoon passed swiftly by as 
the man and the lad lay on the river bank under the 
shadow of the great live-oak, fishing and chatting, 
and getting better acquainted with every hour that 
passed. The sun was well started on the down- 
ward stretch of his daily journey when Jerry remem- 
bered suddenly the lunch he had brought. Pulling 
the parcel from his pocket, he insisted on sharing 
its contents with his companion, though the latter 


AND MAKES A STRIKE 


119 


protested that there was hardly enough for two, and 
that he had meant to get back to the mine before 
this. 

‘^Did your sister make this bread ?’^ asked Mr. 
Forrest, regarding the sandwich from which he had 
just taken a large bite. 

^^She certainly did,’^ replied Jerry. 

^^And this cookie, I suppose?” holding up a 
deliciously brown and sugary one to Jerry’s puzzled 
gaze. 

“Of course she made it. What’s the matter 
with ’em?” demanded the latter, pugnaciously. 

“The matter with ’em! Young fellow, I don’t 
believe you half appreciate your blessings! These 
things taste like home. There’s a genuine down- 
east flavor about them that makes me homesick. 
I haven’t tasted a cookie like this since I struck 
California, — anyway, not since I’ve been living 
at the Twenty Rattles Caf^.” 

“ Don’t get anything fit to eat up there, I suppose ? ” 
queried Jerry, sympathetically. 

“Well, hardly so bad as that — when we have 
a cook. Just now we are waiting for a new one 
from Minersville, and Larry Jukes is doing his worst 
for us in the meantime. Larry means well, and 
likes to putter about, but nature meant him for a 
prospector — never a cook.” 

Jerry’s own epicurean tastes made him peculiarly 
sensitive to the tragedy of the situation. 

“Well, I’m awfully sorry for you. I like good 


120 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


food pretty well myself. How long is it since your 
cook left?” 

‘^Long enough so I’m perilously near starvation. 
Two weeks to-day, if I remember. The worst of 
it is, it looks as if it would be six more before the 
cook Mr. Abbott has engaged — he’s superintend- 
ent of the mine, you know — can get here. Her 
husband is down with t3^hoid fever at Minersville. 
He’s a man who used to run a drill for us here a year 
or two ago. He’s been getting married since then. 
I don’t know anything about his wife, but Mr. Abbott 
said she looked very capable. Mr. Abbott engaged 
the two of them the last time he was in town, and 
they were coming up the next week, but then poor 
Smith got down with the fever, and the doctor says 
he can’t work for at least another six weeks. So 
there you are!” 

Probably the anticipation of six weeks more of 
Larry’s eccentric cooking was responsible for the 
deep feeling with which he added, as he accepted 
Jerry’s proffer of half the last doughnut: — 

“Really, Jerry, I can’t think of any kinder thing 
your sister could do than to come up and cook for 
us till Mrs. Smith comes to our rescue.” 

He was joking, of course, but Jerry misunder- 
stood, and answered with hot pride : — 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with Larry 
Jukes’ cooking, Mr. Forrest. We’re awfully poor — 
I told you that — but we’ll have to come a heap 
nearer starving than we have yet, before Don and I 


AND MAKES A STRIKE 


121 


let our sister slave for a lot of miners, to support us. 
You’ll have to look farther than the Robin’s Nest 
for a cook!” 

‘‘Don’t misunderstand me!” replied Mr. Forrest, 
a little vexed, but more amused at Jerry’s unnecessary 
flash of temper. “I hadn’t the remotest intention 
of injuring your feelings. I was in fun — that was 
all. And yet,” he went on seriously, “if I had 
been in earnest, it wouldn’t have been in the slight- 
est disrespect to your sister. Cooking for a mining 
camp boarding-house means hard work, of course, 
for boys who run drills and tend chuck and tram 
dirt all day are apt to have big appetites; but as far 
as respect is concerned, — why, there isn’t a man 
at Twenty Rattles that wouldn’t treat your sister 
like a princess, whether she was cooking his dinner 
or not. Some of them are rough fellows, drink and 
swear and gamble and all that, and it’s an awful 
pity, of course; but I’ve yet to come across one that 
would say a coarse word, or do a discourteous thing 
before a woman who deserved his reverence. They 
haven’t polished manners, but they’re gentlemen 
at heart, and mighty good fellows, these California 
miners. They’re honest as daylight, and brave ! — 
why, Jerry, last winter two of our boys worked for 
three weeks in an upraise where there was danger 
any day, and they knew it, too, of breaking through 
into some abandoned workings and letting a thou- 
sand tons of water down on their heads. Of course 
the utmost care was used in engineering, and in the 


122 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


end our surveys proved exactly right, so that we 
tapped the old works safely and drained away the 
water without accident. But there had been a big 
element of uncertainty about it all, and it had taken 
all sorts of nerve to keep steadily at work the way 
Barney and Mike did. Their wages were trebled, 
to be sure, on account of the danger, but a fellow 
doesn’t risk his life just for a few dollars more or 
less.” 

^^What for, then? They couldn’t be made to do 
anything so dangerous.” 

‘^Certainly not. But the thing had to be done, 
and it seemed to be up to them to do it. As long 
as that body of water was unlocated above us, it 
was a menace. The only thing to do was to get rid 
of it, and when Mr. Abbott asked for volunteers, 
every unmarried man on the force offered to go in. ” 

Jerry’s imagination was stirred. This was the 
sort of thing his favorite heroes did. 

remember now,” he cried; Larry Jukes told 
me something about that — and how one of the 
men went back into the tunnel after the water had 
begun to come through, to get a lantern or some- 
thing that had been forgotten when they lit out for 
their lives! Was that Barney, or Mike? He said 
'the kid,’ if I remember.” 

The tanned cheek on which Jerry’s gaze happened 
to be resting grew suddenly red in a boyish flush of 
embarrassment. 

"No — that was one of the other fellows. And 


AND MAKES A STRIKE 


123 


that wasn’t courage. It was pure foolhardiness, 
and The kid’ ought to have been ashamed of him- 
self. No man has a right to risk his life needlessly. 
He wouldn’t have done it, I fancy, if there’d been 
any one in the world to whom it mattered much 
whether he lived or died. Now if he’d had a 
brother, Jerry, or a sister, or both, he would have 
been a coward to ” 

‘‘I remember perfectly now,” interrupted Jerry, 
quietly, but with a saucy twinkle in his eye. ^‘1 
remember just what Mr. Jukes said. He said it 
was That tom-fool kid engineer’ that went back 
into the tunnel after the boss’s lantern. Please 
don’t bother to draw me any more morals, Mr. For- 
rest. I’ve got one idea out of your story. That’s 
that you’re an all ’round brick, and I’d like to shake 
hands with you again, if you don’t mind.” 

In the hearty clasp that followed was sealed a 
friendship that had taken root suddenly, to be sure, 
but which was destined to last a life-time; to prove 
a strong influence toward manliness and responsi- 
bility in careless Jerry, and to add an element of 
warm elder-brotherly affection and interest to the 
rather lonely life of the young engineer. 

They walked home together, climbing straight 
back up the western mountains by a trail Mr. For- 
rest knew, till they came out upon the road. This 
they followed down to the place where the Robin’s 
Nest wagon track turned aside and crossed the bridge 
to the ranch. 


124 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Mr. Forrest declined Jerry’s invitation to stop 
with him to supper, but promised to come over soon 
and call, and, with a cordial good night, the two 
separated, one to swing brisldy out of sight up 
the road that led to Twenty Rattles, the other to fly 
across the bridge and up the path, and to burst upon 
Don and Robin and Maggie with a whoop of enthu- 
siasm that startled them half out of their wits. 

Out of breath, Jerry sank among the pillows of the 
hammock, and, between gasps, poured forth the 
tale of his adventures. The others listened with 
many interruptions and with fl-attering interest. 

He began at the very beginning, rather shame- 
facedly confessing the nature of the quest on which 
he had left home that morning, and Robin squeezed 
his hand sympathetically when he told how Mr. 
Forrest had shattered the air castle into bits by his 
careless reference to “that old mica ledge.” 

His description of his new acquaintance as “the 
dandiest chap I ever met! ” was promptly qualified 
in the minds of two of his three listeners by a mental 
reference to Jerry’s knovm habit of exaggeration. 
Still, they had to admit that they liked the things 
he had said, and that it was good of him to offer to 
teach Jerry geology and mineralogy, so that he could 
go prospecting more intelligently and with better 
chance of success. Robin was naturally pleased at 
the stranger’s praise of her cookery, and practical 
Don was won by the information that Mr. Forrest 
had promised to speak to Mr. Abbott about employ- 


AND MAKES A STRIKE 


125 


ing Jerry to make tri- weekly trips to Angel Flat for 
the camp mail. 

‘‘Do you think you can stand the long walk?” 
asked Robin, anxiously. “It will be at least ten 
miles, there and back.” 

“Stand it? Of course I can,” sniffed Jerry. 

“You can ride Stubby if you find it^s too much 
for you,” suggested Don. “Anyway, it’s no use 
worrying about it till you get the job. Like as 
not Mr. Abbott won’t see fit to hire you. Let’s 
have supper, to change the subject. I’ll dress your 
trout, Jerry, — you can rest.” 

And Jerry, feeling that he had done quite enough 
for one day toward bettering the family outlook, 
cuddled down among his pillows, and went peace- 
fully to sleep, till he was recalled to consciousness 
by the delicious aroma of browning trout and Mag- 
gie’s summons to “Wake up, and come to supper.” 


CHAPTER XII 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 

Sylvester Abbott, superintendent of the Twenty 
Rattles Mine, was sitting alone in his office, writing 
busily at the rough pine table that served him as a 
desk. The mail Jerry had brought over from Angel 
Flat the evening before lay scattered before him. 
His discarded coat hung on the back of his chair. 
His heavy iron-gray hair fairly bristled with pen- 
holders and pencils, for, as every one knew who knew 
the “boss’’ at all, it was his eccentric custom to 
thrust into his bushy locks anything of that sort that 
he wanted to get out of the way, and to-day every 
pen that he had taken out of his box had proved 
scratchier, and every pencil duller, than the last. 
The shaggy gray brows that shaded his deep-set, 
steady eyes were drawn together into somethmg 
very like a frown. To one who did not know him 
for the kindest and most considerate of men, he 
surely would have given the impression, this May 
morning, of being first cousin to a grizzly bear. 

Certainly his appearance was not reassuring to 
Robin Arnold, when, in response to a deep bass 
“Come in!” she opened the door at which she had 
tapped and stepped inside the uncarpeted little room. 

126 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


127 


After waiting a reasonable time for him to look 
up from his writing, Robin ventured to remark, 
rather timidly: — 

^^Good morning. I’m very sorry to disturb you, 
Mr. Abbott, but ” 

At the sound of her voice he started, glanced at 
her, got to his feet so precipitately that he nearly 
overturned his chair, and reached for his coat while 
he was exclaiming: — 

beg a thousand pardons. Madam! I supposed 
of course it was Forrest coming in after his transit. 
Take a chair, please, and tell me how I can serve 
you.” 

Robin hastened to relieve the curiosity which she 
detected in his courteous tones. 

‘‘My name is Roberta Arnold. You know my 
brother Jerry. He has been carrying your mail for 
more than a week now. You find him trustworthy, 
I hope?” 

“Oh, yes — yes, indeed! He’s doing first rate, 
Jerry is. But you didn’t come ’way over from your 
ranch just to relieve your mind on that score, Miss 
Arnold?” 

The keen eyes that rested inquiringly on her face 
were at the same time so kind that Robin’s desire 
to run away quite vanished, and she answered com- 
posedly, save for a little tremble in her voice: — 

“I came to ask you, Mr. Abbott, if I might have 
the position of cook in your boarding-house until 
the woman you have engaged arrives. Mr. Forrest 


128 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


told my brother that you needed some one for 
a month or two.” 

‘^Did Forrest suggest your applying for the place ?” 
asked the superintendent, with a little frown. 

‘^Only in fun. He was kind enough to be pleased 
with a luncheon my bro.her shared with him, and 
which Jerry told him I was responsible for. Jerry 
reported the conversation at home as a huge joke, 
and Don — that’s my other brother — was as much 
amused at the idea as Jerry had been. In fact, I’m 
the only member of the family who treated the sug- 
gestion at all seriously. None of them dreamed 
that I was coming here when I started for my walk 
to-day.” 

‘^Suppose you tell me how you came to think 
seriously of it,” proposed Mr. Abbott. ‘Ht’s not 
difficult to see that, if I employ you, it will be a very 
unfamiliar position in which you find yourself.” 

Robin hesitated a minute, then answered with 
straightforward, girlish dignity: — 

“I made up my mind to come, Mr. Abbott, 
because we’re very poor, and getting poorer every day, 
in spite of the fact that we have tried not to spend 
a cent for anything but necessaries. Don is working 
beyond his strength, I am afraid, trying to make 
our ranch pay. The money Jerry earns carrying the 
mail for you is a wonderful help, but of course it 
doesn’t go so very far. 

“I am the oldest one at home, and we are orphans; 
I couldn’t forgive myself if I let my foolish pride 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


129 


and dread of drudgery keep me from doing any- 
thing honest and respectable to help along. At first 
I tried to persuade myself that I shouldn’t be able 
to stand the work — but all the time I knew in my 
heart that I could. I am perfectly well and strong, 
though perhaps I look slight. And I believe I could 
satisfy you with my cooking. I was well taught at 
home, before my father died, and I’ve had lots of 
experience lately. At least, I should do my best if 
I were given the chance to try.” 

Robin stopped, rather out of breath with her long 
speech, and waited a reply. She grew more and 
more uncomfortable as Mr. Abbott continued to 
search her face kindly, but keenly. It seemed to 
her that those penetrating eyes were looking directly 
into her soul, and reading there her miserable, cow- 
ardly, shamefaced hope that he would say he did 
not want her — that she could never in the world 
make a success as cook for the Twenty Rattles board- 
ing-house. ^Perhaps the superintendent was some- 
thing of a mind reader. At any rate, he guessed 
without much difficulty that his refusal to give her 
the employment she sought would not prove an 
overwhelming blow. For a minute he was half 
tempted to shake his head, but it was the wiser second 
thought that dictated his reply. It would be kinder 
to sustain her in her courage than to humor her in 
her cowardice. And he could not honestly say that 
they did not need a cook. 

‘‘I shall be very glad to avail myself of your ser- 


130 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


vices, Miss Arnold,” he said at last, in a quiet, busi- 
nesslike way that made it all seem very simple and 
natural. haven’t any doubt of your being able 
to hold down the position, and the sooner you can 
take it, the better. This is Saturday — will Monday 
suit you ? Very well, then, we’ll call it settled. I’ll 
send Larry over with the team for you and your 
trunk, Monday afternoon. Is there anything else 
to discuss? — oh, to be sure — wages! You will 
be paid thirty dollars a month. Miss Arnold, and, 
of course, your board.” 

Robin looked a little surprised. 

“Jerry must have misunderstood Mr. Forrest, 
then. I’m sure he said Mr. Forrest told him you 
paid your cook six dollars a week. I had thought 
that pretty good.” 

Robin did not feel at all alarmed by the severe 
frown with which Mr. Abbott replied : — 

“Jack is a very good boy, and I suppose I have 
spoiled him into thinking he runs the whole Twenty 
Rattles’ outfit ; but there are still one or two matters 
I decide without consulting him. Thirty a month 
I said. Miss Roberta, — let’s consider that final.” 

As she got up to go, he rose also and opened the 
door for her. Then, quite to her surprise, he held 
out his hand. 

“My dear little girl,” he said, as his big, ink- 
stained fingers closed over her slender ones, “I want 
to tell you that I’m proud of you, and that if those 
brothers of yours don’t appreciate you, they’re 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


131 


ungrateful young cubs. IVe got a daughter of my 
own, pretty near your age, I should say, and you’re 
doing just what I should want her to do under 
the same hard circumstances. I hope I shall never 
have to leave her to shift for herself, as your 

father had to leave you, but if I do ” He 

stopped short, and dropped Robin’s hand to reach 
into his inner pocket. ‘‘Would you like to see my 
girl?” he asked, snapping open the case of a beau- 
tiful watch and laying it in Robin’s hand. The face 
that looked up into hers from its encircling rim of 
gold was a wonderfully sweet and winsome one, 
with tenderness and mirth striving for the mastery 
in the curves of her pretty mouth and about the 
corners of her dark eyes. 

“What a dear girl she is!” cried Robin, with 
genuine enthusiasm. “Doesn’t she ever stay up 
here with you, Mr. Abbott ? I should so love to 
know her!” 

“She stayed with me two years after I came up to 
Twenty Rattles, but last fall I sent her to Europe 
with her aunt, to study music. She has talent, we 
think. That’s her piano over in the corner.” 

“Then she will be away a long time?” 

“Another year, at least. Some day, perhaps, you 
and she may be friends. I hope so, surely. Till 
Monday, then! Good morning. Miss Roberta!” 

The door of the superintendent’s office closed 
behind her, and Robin found herself once more in 
the glow of California sunshine, with the blue Cali- 


132 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


fornia sky arching overhead. She stopped a moment 
on the steps and drew in a long breath of the pure 
and fragrant spring air, as she looked about her at 
the place which was to be her home for the next 
few weeks. 

The superintendent’s house was highest up the 
mountain-side of all the mine buildings, save a 
shaft-house, far above. Below where she stood, 
fifty or a hundred yards, stood the big, unpainted 
dormitory, or sleeping house,” and the boarding- 
house, which was known in the camp as the “Twenty 
Rattles Cafe.” Smoke issuing from the chimney 
of this structure indicated that Larry Jukes within 
was “doing his worst ” toward preparing the 
miners’ midday meal. A long bench stood on the 
wide, unroofed porch in front of the eating-house, 
and several miners in dark woolen shirts, heavy 
overalls, and hobnailed boots, were sitting there, 
waiting for Larry’s summons. Another strapping 
fellow, with a shock of sandy hair and the shoulders 
of a Hercules, was washing his face and hands in a 
tin basin by the pump, and drying them on a roller 
towel that hung against the door. 

Below these buildings, deep down in the leafy 
ravine, Robin could see the roof of the blacksmith 
shop, the “change house” where the men washed 
themselves, and changed their clothing after work, 
and the gray-white of ore piles and waste dumps. 
Still farther down the slope, and across the road, 
stood the stamp mill and the air-compressing plant, 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 133 


and below their big water-wheels the Mercedes was 
churned into white uproar. Above the unceasing 
din of pounding stamps that rose from the mill 
Robin could detect a merry Cling — clang — 
cling — ’’ from the blacksmith shop, where some 
one was sharpening drills. 

believe I like it!” Robin told herself, as she 
tripped down the steep trail to the road. ‘Ht’s as 
busy as an ant-hill, and iCs dreadfully noisy, but 
it’s all so clean and wholesome, with the blue sky 
overhead and the great evergreens looming up every- 
where, right among the buildings. It’s far nicer 
than some horrid, smoky city factory. I think I’d 
rather like to be a miner. But — oh, dearie me! — 
not a cook at a miners’ boarding-house!” She 
shuddered a bit at the prospect as she passed the 
open windows of the “Cafe” and was greeted by an 
unsavory odor of burning pork. “Anyway,” she 
meditated, with a little toss of her head, “if I’ve 
got to do it. I’ll do it well, and if those shaggy bears 
of miners don’t like my cooking better than Larry’s, 
I’ll write to Chrissie and tell her I’m a melancholy 
failure.” 

Now that the Rubicon was crossed, Robin’s spirits 
began to rise. It would be hard work, of course, 
but forty or fifty dollars would be a great help when 
it came to laying in a stock of provisions for the 
winter. Robin found herself calculating how many 
cans of corn and pease, how many sides of bacon, 
how many sacks of floor, she could buy, if the con- 


134 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


valescent Mr. Smith took five weeks, six weeks, 
seven weeks at the outside, let us say, to recover 
his health. 

So busily engaged was she in this mental arith- 
metic, as she hurried home, that she was decidedly 
startled by a sudden, hoarse, asthmatic ^^Mee-ow?’’ 
at her feet. 

'^Why, Tom Quartz, you almost frightened me!” 
cried Robin, stooping down to stroke his head. She 
noticed then that she was just opposite a little shack 
which stood across the river among the trees, a huge 
fallen log being apparently the only means of 
approach to it from her side of the stream. She 
had passed by without noting it on her way to the 
mine. 

“I’m all of a mind to take a peep at your master’s 
house, Tom,” she smiled. “He isn’t home, I know, 
but I’m sure he won’t object if I just look in at the 
window.” 

She tiptoed carefully across the log, with Tom 
close behind her, and found herself in a very pleas- 
ant little place. The narrow opening among the 
trees, through which she had caught sight of Larry’s 
cabin, widened here into a circular clearing large 
enough for the tiny house, a scrap of a garden 
where pansies and beets hobnobbed cheerfully, a 
beehive or two, a half-dozen little chicken-coops 
and a fair-sized hen-house. All round the little 
clearing Larry had built a rough but substantial 
wall of stones, as a bulwark against the depreda- 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


135 


tions of hungry cattle. Only one tree was left in- 
side the wall, a beautiful spreading oak that shaded 
the cabin from the heat of the midday sun. The 
cabin itself was built of logs and was half covered 
with a tangle of hop vines, that tried besides 
to cover with a green mantle of charity the inevit- 
able pile of empty tin cans that disfigured Larry^s 
dooryard. 

The door of Larry’s dwelling stood hospitably 
open, and Robin, after a moment’s hesitation,walked 
in. Tom Quartz, evidently much pleased at the 
unexpected honor of this visit, rubbed against her 
skirt, purring huskily. 

To a neat housekeeper like Robin, the interior of 
Larry’s shack presented a frightful example of mas- 
culine disorderliness. 

^^This is exactly how a room would look that Don 
and Jerry had kept house in, without me to pick up 
after them,” she told Tom Quartz, adding with a 
sudden inspiration: “Let’s fix it up, Tom, and 
give your master a surprise!” 

Tom signified his approval of the plan by purring 
louder and more wheezily than ever, as Robin 
pinned up her skirt, rolled her sleeves back to her 
elbows, and set to work with a broom and dust-pan 
she had found in an out-of-the-way corner of the 
woodshed. 

Larry’s one room was small, and its furnishings 
few, and Robin’s nimble hands made short work of 
dirt and disorder. In an hour the place presented 


136 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


quite another appearance. The floor was spotless 
and still damp from an energetic use of broom and 
mop. The bottles and cans and dishes on the open 
cupboard shelves were dusted and put in order. 
The blankets on the bunk in the corner were neatly 
folded, and the pillow thumped into shape. A bowl 
of pink azalea blossoms on the table filled the room 
with fragrance, and the afternoon sunshine streamed 
warmly in through the freshly polished panes of a 
window which Larry, in the many years of his resi- 
dence here, had never thought to wash. 

Well satisfied with her labors, Robin took a final 
proud look about the room. 

suppose I ought to leave my card,” she re- 
marked to Tom, who, inspired by the general atmos- 
phere of cleanliness, had retired to the tidily brushed 
hearth to wash his face. ^^But I seem to have for- 
gotten my card-case, and anyway, it will be more 
fun to leave him guessing. Donh you dare to tell 
him who’s been here, you bad old pussy-cat!” 

With this farewell warning she left the cabin, 
shutting the door behind her, lest the cat should try 
to follow her home in his doglike way. Recross- 
ing the log to the other side of the stream, she turned 
to the right and followed the pleasant windings of 
the road in the direction of the Robin’s Nest. 

The May afternoon was so full of loveliness that 
Robin could not be unhappy, in spite of her vague 
dread of the weeks to come, and her very uncom- 
fortable apprehension of the wrath of two horrified 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


137 


brothers when she should tell her news. She dis- 
missed all anxious thought from her mind as she 
loitered along the road under the sun-flecked shade 
of the trees, breathing the warm, aromatic odor of 
the blossoming tar-weed that carpeted the hillsides 
with dull green, and filling her hands with the wild 
flowers whose endless variety and profusion were to 
her an unfailing source of delight. 

The mariposa lilies, loveliest of Sierran wild 
flowers, were blossoming now, in all the shades of 
cream and lavender and rose. John Forrest had 
told her that mariposa^’ was the Spanish word for 
butterfly, and she thought of it to-day, telling her- 
self that no fitter name could have been given to the 
flower whose waxen petals, in shape and marking, 
bore so exquisite a resemblance to the fragile beauty 
of a butterfly’s wing. 

Here and there on the hillside a flushing of color 
in the green stretches of tar- weed revealed Robin’s 
favorite among all the May blossoms — the wild 
phlox, pink as a wild rose and delicately fragrant. 
Tar-weed is disagreeable stuff to venture into, for 
the sticky gum its fernlike leaves secrete, clings 
obstinately to one’s garments; but Robin could 
never resist the alluring beauty of the phlox and the 
mariposas, and used always to come home from 
her rambles with her skirts pleasantly odorous and 
unpleasantly smeared from this “mountain misery” 
through which she had waded. 

The squirrels were very much in evidence to-day, 


138 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


playing tag with one another up and down the trees, 
and trailing their long gray tails in the dust as they 
scampered along the road ahead of her. A jack- 
rabbit darted into the chaparral as she passed, and 
some unknown bird sang rapturously, keeping ever 
a little way ahead of her and out of sight. So quiet 
were the woods that the bird’s song rang out clear 
and alone in the peaceful hush. 

Here was no babel of robin and wren, oriole and 
song-sparrow and bobolink, such as was making 
merry the groves and orchards and meadows of her 
childhood’s home. Sometimes Robin grew wildly 
homesick for it all. Sometimes she felt that this 
beautiful, strange land, with its unfamiliar birds 
and flowers and people, could never come to be truly 
home to her as Summerville had been. But at such 
times the cheery, hopeful nature that made her 
nickname seem, to all who knew her, so appropriate 
a one, would come to the rescue. 

“I want to love it here — Ido love it!” she would 
tell herself vehemently. ‘‘Home is where the heart 
is, and where could my heart be, except here, where 
Don and Jerry and Maggie are?” And then she 
would go singing about her work so blithely and 
sweetly that no one would have dreamed that the 
least thought of discontent had entered her heart. 
That was Robin all over — the dear, brave, sunny 
Robin of our tale. 

Home at last, Robin crossed the threshold of the 
Robin’s Nest with a bold exterior, but with an inward 



“JOHN FOREST, WITH HIS TRIPOD ON IIIS SHOULDER, STOOD 
WAITING TO SPEAK TO HER.” 



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WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 139 

shakiness, the result of what might be termed an 
innocently guilty conscience. 

“Here she is!’^ cried Maggie. 

“Where in the world have you been?” scolded 
Don. “We were just getting ready to drag the 
brook. ” 

“And we haven’t had a bite to eat since morning 
— not one blessed bite!” mourned Jerry, in his most 
abused accents. “Maggie locked the cupboard 
and sat on the key so we couldn’t have dinner till 
you got here!” 

“I never did!” protested Maggie, who could not 
always remember that no one ever took Jerry’s 
remarks too literally. 

But Don had been studying his sister’s face. 

“Roberta Arnold, you’ve been doing something 
you’re ashamed of. You may as well out with it at 
once!” 

“Don’t scold me, boys — please don’t!” she 
implored, between laughter and tears. 

Don came over to her side, put his arm around 
her, and looked down at her protectingly. 

“If you’re truly sorry and promise never to do it 
again. I’ll not let Jerry say a word. But I reserve 
the right to scold you myself if I think you deserve 
it. ’Fess up. Sis! What is it you’ve been and gone 
and done?” 

“ I haven’t been and gone and done anything yet, ” 
she protested faintly. “It’s something I’m going 
to do.” Then, more faintly still, “I’m going to 


140 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Twenty Rattles to — to — cook for the boarding- 
house!” 

And then she hid her face in Don’s shoulder, to 
avoid the tempest of disapproval and protest that 
she knew was sure to follow. 


CHAPTER XIII 


AT TWENTY RATTLES 

With cheeks the color of the wild phlox from 
bending over a red-hot stove, with the dimple on her 
chin coquettishly pretending to hide behind a dab 
of flour, and with riotous wisps of soft brown hair 
emancipating themselves from the bondage of comb 
and pin, Roberta Arnold paused in the doorway 
between the dining-room and kitchen of the Twenty 
Rattles boarding-house, surveyed the set table and 
concluded that she was ready to ^^dish up’’ her 
supper. 

Flying into the tiny cubby-hole off the kitchen, 
which was to be her sanctuary these coming weeks, 
she made herself tidy, tried in vain to cool her blaz- 
ing cheeks with cold water, and changed her ging- 
ham apron for a dainty white one with ruffles over 
the shoulders. 

^^Oh, dear, I look for all the world like a maid in 
parlor theatricals!” she sighed in distress, as she 
took a peep at herself in the cracked mirror that 
hung against the wall. do wish I’d had time to 
make some plain white aprons; but it’s too late now, 
and I just can’t wait on table in an old checked 
gingham one!” 


141 


142 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


With a final disapproving frown at her pretty 
reflection, she hurried through the kitchen and din- 
ing room to the porch, took down a great horn from 
its nail by the bench, put it to her lips, and blew — 
blew till her cheeks tingled. A melancholy little 
squawk was the only resulting sound. Much 
chagrined, she took a deep breath and tried again, 
with only slightly better results. 

“What shall I do?’’ thought Robin, in despair. 
“I simply haven’t the audacity to go up to the 
office and ask Mr. Abbott to come down and 
blow the horn for me. I shall just have to wait 
till the men get hungry enough to come of their 
own accord.” 

Before giving up, however, Robin made a last 
tremendous effort, and this time succeeded in evok- 
ing from the instrument a feeble, wailing toot that 
carried as far as the sleeping house, and reached one 
pair of human ears. 

“I’ve raised somebody, at last,” she meditated 
in grim triumph, as she watched a tall, brawny figure 
strolling toward her from the dormitory. “I may 
as well wait till he gets here and send him around to 
gather in the rest. Oh dear, how simply horrid it is ! 
I never dreamed I’d feel so embarrassed!” 

The bright color in her cheeks deepened a shade 
or two in spite of, possibly because of, her desperate 
effort to appear composed as the stalwart miner 
came up the steps. He wore no hat, and she recog- 
nized him by his shock of tawny hair as the man who 


AT TWENTY RATTLES 


143 


had been washing his face at the pump on the occa- 
sion of her first visit to the mine. 

“Good avenin’. Annything Oi kin do fer yez, 
Miss?” he asked politely, but with an amused 
twinkle in the corner of his merry blue eye, and a 
sidelong glance at the horn in Robin’s hand. 

“Yes, thank you,” she replied frankly. “I’d 
be a thousand times obliged if you’d call the men to 
dinner. I suppose I’m very stupid, but I can’t 
seem to manage this horn.” 

He reached out a huge, hairy paw, and took the 
horn from her unresisting grasp. 

Now horn-blowing by Barney O’Hara of the 
Twenty Rattles Mine was a somewhat different 
matter from horn-blowing by Robin Arnold of 
Summerville, New England. Such a series of boom- 
ing bellows began to issue from the battered old 
instrument that Robin fled to the kitchen with her 
hands over her ears, devoutly hoping that Mr. 
Abbott and the chief engineer were not holding her 
responsible for the racket that was bursting in at 
their office windows. 

“I’m sure that’ll do!” she protested, reappearing 
at the door. “Thank you so much!” 

“Oi’ll be plazed to blow the bloomin’ thing fer 
yez iviry mornin’, noon, an’ night, if ye loike,” he 
remarked, as he hung the horn on its nail. “Ye kin 
depind on me. Barney O’Hara’s niver far away 
whin it’s male-toime!” 

“It will be a great accommodation if you will,” 


144 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


said Robin, in grateful relief. ‘^You’re very kind, 
Mr. O’Hara.” And she hurried indoors to put her 
• dinner on the table before the men, now approaching 
from smithy, change house and dormitory, should 
reach the “cafe.” 

“ ^Mr. O’Hara!’ She called yez ‘Mr. O’Hara!’ 
Did ye hear her, ye rid-hidded Oirish galoot?” 
Barney murmured, looking after her with respect 
and admiration. Then he turned to greet his fellow- 
miners with the announcement that the new cook 
was a beautiful lady with iligant manners, and they’d 
better wash their black faces if they hadn’t alriddy, 
and remimber to keep their ilbows off the table. 

The ordeal of her first meal at Twenty Rattles 
proved a far less fiery one than Robin had antici- 
pated. Perhaps the obvious shyness of the men 
she was serving did something to relieve her own 
embarrassment, and it cannot be denied that the 
way they devoured her warm biscuits, her ham and 
eggs and baked “Bayo” beans, her dried-apple pie 
and strong black coffee, was very reassuring. 

“Though, maybe, it’s just that Larry’s starved 
them to it!” she reflected modestly, as she heaped 
a huge ironstone plate for the third time from her 
biscuit tins. But after the meal was over and the 
men had stacked their dishes, pushed back their 
chairs, and gone, she had her reward. The super- 
intendent, who had sat at the head of the table with 
his men, came into the kitchen and paused by the 
sink, where Robin was scouring steel knives and 


AT TWENTY RATTLES 


145 


forks, and trying not to think too much about the 
Robin’s Nest. 

^‘Keep on the way you’ve begun, Miss Roberta, 
and we’ll be more than satisfied,” he said kindly. 
‘‘But don’t work yourself to death. I’ll tell Larry 
to run in and help you, occasionally. He’s sampling 
ore dumps for our assayer, but he can easily be 
spared for an hour or two every morning.” 

But Robin protested. “Please don’t send him, 
Mr. Abbott. I shall get along with the work quite 
comfortably, I am sure. I’d rather do it alone — 
truly I would!” 

“Don’t want the old boy puttering around your 
kitchen — is that it?” he asked. 

“Partly, perhaps.” Robin looked a little con- 
fused. “I’m afraid I’m a trifle fussy about things. 
The boys say I am. And Mr. Jukes isn’t — well, 
he isn’t fastidiously neat about his housekeeping 
arrangements.” A vision of the interior of Larry’s 
shack as it had been before her missionary visit 
flashed into her mind, and she smiled reminiscently. 
“And, moreover,” she went on, “I don’t want to 
feel that I am doing less than your cooks usually do. 
You are paying me large wages, and if I find I can’t 
earn the money by my unaided efforts, I’d rather 
give up and go home.” 

Mr. Abbott liked the firm little set of the lips 
with which Robin ended her sentence. 

“Very well, then. I’ll not take Larry from his 
sampling, since you don’t want him. But don’t kill 


146 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


yourself. Let things go a little. Some way I seem 
to feel responsible for you.” And with that the 
superintendent left the kitchen. 

In spite of her declaration of independence, Robin 
found, in the days that followed, that her hard work 
was being lightened by many little acts of consid- 
eration, which, in her heart of hearts, she was 
afraid had not been performed for the strapping 
German fraiilein who had been her predecessor at 
the Twenty Rattles Cafe. 

Barney O’Hara, true to his word, constituted him- 
self her Knight of the Dinner-horn, and thrice daily 
the peaceful hills resounded to his stentorian blasts. 

Larry kept her kindling box filled with the choicest 
of pitch-pine chips, and her supply of fine seasoned 
stove wood was never allowed to run short. 

Little Mike Fleharty, not to be outdone by his tall 
compatriot, used to creep over from the dormitory 
before daylight, and scrub the tracks of muddy boots 
from her porch by the light of his lantern, a curi- 
ous home-made contrivance, composed of a tomato 
can with one end gone, a bale of wire, and a candle. 

Bino Silveroli, brother of the friendly Caesar of a 
preceding chapter, never went down with the morn- 
ing shift into tunnel or shaft, without first appearing 
at the kitchen door with a bashful grin on his face, 
seizing the big tin pail from its shelf, and hurrying 
off with it as if it were stolen property, and the 
sheriff of the county were after him. And if, by any 
chance, the same pail became empty before noon. 


AT TWENTY RATTLES 


147 


and Robin started up the trail to refill it at the spring 
that gushed from the rocks above the superintend- 
ent’s office, she was more than likely to be hailed 
as she passed the open door of the office. 

‘‘Hold on, Miss Robin — let me do that for you!” 
a voice would call, and in a minute more the pail 
would be taken from her hand, her protesting, “You 
don’t need to, Mr. Forrest — it won’t be at all 
heavy!” quite disregarded. 

“They all spoil me. I couldn’t ask to be treated 
more kindly or respectfully than I have been,” she 
told Don, at the end of her first week at the mine. 
She had been too busy to go to the Robin’s Nest at 
all, but one or the other of the boys had run over 
every day or two to see how she was getting along, 
and to try by scolding or coaxing to persuade her to 
give it up and come home. 

“ I’m perfectly well, and perfectly satisfied. Don’t 
try any more to discourage me, Don! I’m doing 
what I think is right, and you and Jerry are only 
making it hard for me.” 

“Are we really?” Don’s voice was full of com- 
punction. “We ought to be thrashed if that’s the 
case. I’ll not say another word, Robin, about its be- 
ing too hard for you, and I’ll choke off Jerry’s ever- 
lasting nonsense about the injury to his family pride. 
Only promise me, dear” — he threw his arm over 
her shoulders in the protecting way that always made 
Robin feel like a little girl — “promise me you’ll give 
it up the minute you feel that you’re getting tired!” 


148 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Robin laughed. ‘H’ll promise to stop when I 
think it’s injuring my health, but as to stopping as 
soon as I get tired — why, I’d have stopped long ago. 
I’m tired as I can be every night. I don’t pretend 
it’s easy work, Don; but it isn’t hurting me, and it 
won’t be for so very long. And since you boys and 
Maggie are getting along so well without me ” 

‘‘Not well at all! Just endurably.” 

“Endurably, then. And as long as I’m not suf- 
fering from overwork, there is nothing to worry 
about, and a great deal to be thankful for. Just 
be good children, and don’t fret. And come to see 
me as often as you can. It does get pretty lone- 
some at times.” 

Don kissed his sister good-by and left her, turn- 
ing round when he reached the place where the 
trail met the road, to wave his hand in answer to the 
white flicker of her handkerchief. His heart swelled 
with affection and boyish pride at the pretty picture 
she made as she stood there above him, the after- 
noon sunlight turning her wavy brown hair to gold; 
her face a little paler than its wont, but bright and 
smiling as she nodded after him and called good-by; 
her graceful figure in its simple blue cotton gown 
looking wonderfully slight and girlish, outlined 
against the bole of a huge cedar that grew by the 
porch of the boarding-house. 

So she stood and watched him with loving eyes, 
and the smile did not fade from her face until he 
was out of sight around the curve of the hill road. 


AT TWENTY RATTLES 


149 


hurrying back to the home that, as Robin was glad 
and sad to know, wasn’t home at all since she had 
come away from it. 

Don’s eyes were not the only ones that saw that 
picture — the slim girl in the faded blue gown, stand- 
ing bareheaded in the sunshine, with the green 
background of Sierran forest behind her, looking 
down with smiling lips and wistful eyes into the 
leafy ravine below. John Forrest, tramping up 
the trail to the office with his tripod on his shoulder, 
stopped short in the gay strain he was whistling as 
he came opposite the boarding-house, and, lifting 
his gray sombrero, stood waiting to speak to her when 
she should look round. 

All unconscious of his presence, Robin stood 
there, still gazing at the place where her brother 
had disappeared. The smile died away from her 
face as Forrest watched her. Presently, with a 
little sigh, she lifted her eyes from the ravine into 
whose depths she had been looking, and fixed them 
dreamily, unseeingly, on the green heights of the 
mountains that rose before her — the rugged, pine- 
clad barrier that lay between this new life and the 
old, between the West of her realities and the East 
of her memories and dreams. There were home- 
sickness and longing, as well as courage and sweet- 
ness, in the girl’s face as she stood in the sunshine, 
statue-still, forgetful for a little space of everything 
about her. So young, so alone, so out of place among 
these rude surroundings did she seem, that a sudden 


150 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


ache of chivalrous pity went through the heart of the 
young man. Without disturbing her, he went on 
up the trail and into the house he shared with the 
superintendent. It was the slam with which the door 
of the office closed after him that recalled Robin 
from her reverie and sent her indoors in a hurry to 
pare potatoes for the evening meal. 

That night, when the engineer stopped after 
supper to say good evening to her, she won- 
dered a little why his manner was even more than 
usually kind and courteous. She would have been 
amused and touched had she known that he was 
wishing with all his heart that Jerry’s wild idea of 
adopting him as an elder brother to the entire Robin’s 
Nest household were a more practicable one. Here 
was he, with only himself to take care of, earning 
a salary that far more than sufficed for his modest 
needs. And here, on the other hand, was this brave 
little woman wearing herself out with hard and 
uncongenial drudgery; here was sixteen-year-old 
Don getting old long before his time trying to carry 
a burden of responsibility that would have been 
light to more mature and experienced shoulders; 
and here were Jerry and Maggie, growing up in the 
woods, with no prospect of their ever receiving any 
of the educational advantages they ought to have, 
and sadly needed. 

'Hf only a fellow could do something for them,” 
he wrote, in the shabby, Russia-bound journal 
that served him as a confidant. ‘Hf only things 


AT TWENTY RATTLES 


151 


could be evened up a little. But of course they’d 
die before they’d take help from a mere acquaintance 
like me, and I shouldn’t even dare offer, for fear of 
hurting their pride. It’s a beastly situation, and 
there’s no way out of it that I see.” 

And even as he wrote. Fate was at work preparing 
a way. For yet another pair of eyes had that after- 
noon been watching Robin, unseen themselves, as 
she stood in the mellow glow of sunshine on the 
porch of the Twenty Rattles eating-house. 

All that night Larry Jukes sat by the cold hearth- 
stone in his little cabin, lost in bitter thought, his 
heavy black brows knit sternly, his eyes full of fierce 
sadness. Once Tom Quartz jumped to his knee, 
but Larry pushed him off, to Tom’s chagrin and 
wrath. 

^'Y’u can’t help me to-night, old feller. Nobody 
can’t. I’ve got this here thing to think out alone,” 
Larry explained apologetically. 

The cold gray of dawn began to steal through the 
little window Robin had washed, before the old 
man got up, blew out his candle, walked stiffly across 
the room, and laydown on the bunk; but not yet had 
he thought the thing out. 

^‘1 can’t — I can’t make up my mind to!” he 
moaned weakly, pulling the gray blankets up over his 
shivering shoulders. Then, suddenly, he cried aloud 
in a harsh, rasping voice, that startled Tom Quartz 
wide awake: — 

'Xurse him! Curse John Sturtevandt ! ” 


CHAPTER XIV 


JERRY, THE IRRESPONSIBLE 

Whoop-la 

The exclamation was loud and sudden, and the 
voice that exclaimed was within a few feet of Robin’s 
ear, but she did not start. She was too used to Jerry 
for that, and moreover she had been watching for 
him for an hour past. 

^^Here you are at last!” she said, looking around 
brightly from her after-supper dish-washing. ‘‘Aren’t 
you later than usual, Jerry?” 

“It’s Mr. Abbott’s fault if I am. I went over 
to the office to get his letters, and he kept me there 
half an hour, lecturing me about carelessness.” 

“What have you been doing that was careless?” 
asked his sister, reproachfully. 

“Nary a thing! He’s afraid I’m going to do 
something, that’s all. He says he’s expecting some 
mail by to-night’s stage that’s awfully important — 
deeds or papers of some sort that he wouldn’t have 
lost for a thousand dollars. I’m to sign the registry 
receipt with his name.” 

Jerry unconsciously swelled with importance, but 
Robin looked anxious. 

“Do be very careful, dear,” she urged. “I know 

152 


JERRY, THE IRRESPONSIBLE 153 


you always mean to be, but sometimes you’re a little 
— a little ” 

Jerry threw his arms about her in a bearlike hug, 
and stopped the accusation with a sounding kiss. 
Before she had recovered her breath to conclude 
her warning, he was gone. 

The Minersville stage did not reach the moun- 
tain village of Angel Flat till evening, so that Jerry’s 
tri- weekly trips for the mail were always made after 
dark. Robin never felt easy on the nights when he 
was away. His tramp through the woods was indeed 
a lonely one. No single ranch or prospector’s shanty 
broke the monotony of the miles of forest. Much 
of the distance was covered by way of steep and 
rugged trails, and the road itself was a mere wagon 
track, winding among the great trees. Except on 
moonlit nights, there was never any light to guide 
him save the twinkle of his own lantern through 
the open, park-like stretches under the trees, or a 
cold glimmer of the stars above the feathery pine 
and spruce tops. 

Robin’s imagination, always vivid, busied itself on 
these occasions by investing every low bough under 
which her brother was passing with a hungry wild 
cat or mountain lion ; and until he burst in upon her 
at the boarding-house on his way home, she was 
invariably picturing him as lying with a sprained 
ankle or a broken leg, somewhere out in the vast 
expanse of loneliness between her and Angel Flat. 
To-night she felt rather more than usually anxious, 


154 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


for the knowledge that Jerry was to be trusted with 
papers of such importance made her usual fore- 
bodings take on a new form — that of robbery and 
foul play. Werenh such things always to be looked 
for in a wild country like this, she should like to 
know? 

Meanwhile Jerry, unconscious of his sister’s 
absurd fears, was swinging briskly on by the now 
familiar trail and road toward Angel. No thought 
of danger entered his head as he trudged onward, 
gayly whistling. 

The stage, with its four raw-boned, sure-footed 
horses, drew up in front of the tiny post-office just as 
Jerry turned the corner, and Sandy McDowell threw 
out a mail-bag to the postmaster, who was waiting 
to receive it. A score or more of people were 
waiting about to see the mail distributed — rough, 
broad-shouldered men, barefooted children, and a 
half-dozen young girls, whispering and giggling 
together. 

As usual, a generous share of the contents of 
Sandy’s bag was turned over to Jerry. Among the 
letters for Twenty Rattles was one in a long, yellow 
envelope, with a registry stamp in the corner — 
evidently the important missive, as to the care of 
which he had received such particular injunctions. 

‘^You’ll have to sign for this one,” the postmaster 
remarked, pushing an open register toward Jerry, 
and indicating the place where he was to write. 
^‘Mr. Abbott’s name here, please, and ‘per’ your 


JERRY, THE IRRESPONSIBLE 155 


own below. That's right. And on this card, too. 
Thanks." 

Jerry’s idea of his own importance, already com- 
fortably high, rose several degrees as the young 
ladies stopped laughing and talking to stare at the 
representative of the Twenty Rattles Mine, while 
the small boys stood on tiptoe to see what he was 
doing. He was used to being stared at thus three 
times a week, being a stranger, and rather a strik- 
ingly good-looking lad; and, I am ashamed to con- 
fess, he thoroughly enjoyed the experience. 

After signing his name with an extra flourish and 
a well-assumed air of entire unconsciousness of the 
interest he was exciting, Jerry thrust his letters into 
the gunny-sack he always carried, threw the latter 
over his shoulder, bade the postmaster’s wife good 
night with his usual sunny courtesy, and turned to go. 

But before he reached the door, it opened sud- 
denly, and he found himself face to face with Larry 
Jukes. 

Now there had been something very peculiar of 
late about Larry Jukes and his manner toward the 
Arnolds. His usual talkativeness and neighborly 
cordiality had quite disappeared, and he had become 
uncommunicative to the point of surliness. He 
had not been at the Robin’s Nest for weeks — not 
lonce, indeed, since Robin had come to Twenty 
Rattles more than a month before. Even to Robin 
herself, unmistakably his favorite among his new 
neighbors, he had changed. All that he could do to 


156 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


lighten her hard tasks, he still did. In fact, he 
seemed to her to be in a constant state of feverish 
anxiety to perform some service for her. In the face 
of her continued friendliness, however, he remained 
silent and grim. To her conversational advances 
he replied in monosyllables only, and he avoided 
her society so obviously that, puzzled and hurt, she 
had come to the regretful conclusion that the only 
thing to do was to let him alone and trust time to 
unravel the mystery of his eccentric behavior. 

Jerry had grown so used to this unaccountable 
attitude of Larry’s, that he was more than a little 
surprised to-night, when, in response to his own 
simple, ‘^Good evening, Mr. Jukes,” Larry had 
replied with noticeable effusion. A new change 
had come over the old man. His voice was loud; 
his cheeks were flushed; his blue eyes shone with 
reckless excitement. 

Jerry felt that something was wrong, but he was 
far from guessing the truth — that poor old Larry 
had been for hours in one of the many saloons of 
Angel, trying in vain to drown out of his half mad 
brain the memory of a problem that had haunted 
his days and tormented his nights for several weeks 
past. It was years since Larry had touched drink. 
The lookers-on in the post-office this June evening 
regarded him with surprise and curiosity. 

''Something must have happened to unsettle the 
old fellow. He’s certainly had a drop too much,” 
the postmaster remarked aside to his wife. 


JERRY, THE IRRESPONSIBLE 157 


Jerry, for his part, was trying to excuse himself 
and get away, for he knew that it was growing late, 
and that both Robin and Mr. Abbott would be 
waiting his return. But Larry would not let him 
pass. 

‘‘Not a step back to Twenty Rattles do y’u go yet 
awhile, lad!” he vociferated. “I'll be goin' myself 
in half an hour, an' we'll go together. Come along 
with me, boy! They've got a contrivance over to 
Peters' store that I'll bet Tom Quartz' whiskers y'u 
ain't never seen the like on. East nor West!” 

“What is it called?” asked Jerry, with mild 
curiosity. 

“I don't rightly remember its name. ‘Gran’ma 
Fone’ or some such nonsense he called it. But it's 
big as the dinner-horn at Twenty Rattles, an’ it can 
talk as well as I can, an’ sing a heap better. Peters 
he got it down to Sacramento last week. He’s lettin’ 
people see it for ten cents a head.” 

It chanced that no one in the post-office had heard 
before of the advent into Angel Flat of Mr. Peters' 
gramophone. 

“Y'u didn't say it kin talk, did y'u?” asked an 
awe-inspired little boy, in breathless tones. 

“ Shucks ! Let’s us go over and see for ourselves ! ’ ’ 
suggested some one else. 

“Come on! come on! all of y’u. Don’t say no, 
unless y’u want trouble! It’s my treat!” roared 
Larry, in a sudden burst of generosity. 

It would have been absurd to decline such an 


158 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


invitation, and no one thought of so doing. Men 
and women, girls and boys, trooped across the street 
in Larry’s wake and crowded into the dimly lighted 
interior of Peters’ store. Larry threw several silver 
half dollars on the counter, and indicated to the pro- 
prietor with a comprehensive wave of his arm that 
he was acting as host for the party. 

‘^Walk right in, ladies and gentlemen,” cried Mr. 
Peters. “Walk right in and take a look at the 
greatest product of modern inventive genius. That’s 
what the circ’lar calls it, and I guess it ain’t far from 
right. Step this way, Mr. Jukes and all — right 
this way!” 

Larry followed him, and the crowd followed 
Larry into Mrs. Peters’ cosy sitting-room back of 
the store, where they gathered around the table on 
which reposed the scientific wonder of the age. 

“Now, what shall we listen to first?” asked Mr. 
Peters, genially. “A speech by that eminent states- 
man, our representative in congress from this dis- 
trict? A funny song? An orchestry selection? 
We’ll let the ladies decide, won’t we, gents? Miss 
Tillie Switzer, which shall it be? Speak up — 
don’t be bashful.” 

Miss Tillie giggled consciously, and, after some 
deliberation, chose the funny song. 

After this had been rendered, to the delight of 
the audience, Larry demanded the speech. This 
proved to be an unfortunate choice, for more than 
half the men present were politically at variance 


JERRY, THE IRRESPONSIBLE 159 


with their congressman, and his rather intemperate 
remarks on certain matters still at issue provoked 
such indignant interruptions and hot arguments 
that the eloquent voice of the gramophone was in 
imminent danger of being drowned out. Mr. 
Peters averted such a catastrophe by nipping short 
the peroration of the Gentleman from California, 
and substituting a lively march by a blaring brass 
band. 

All this was, of course, very amusing to a superior 
young man who had lived in New York, and to 
whom gramophones were an old story. Jerry knew 
that he ought not to linger, but it was hard to tear 
himself away from the first scene of anything ap- 
proaching social festivity at which he had been 
present for months. And what possible harm could 
there be in staying just a few minutes longer? 

The few minutes waxed into an hour, for Mr. 
Peters’ instrument had a large repertoire, and 
neither his patience nor the interest of his audience 
showed any signs of flagging. A striking clock 
suddenly reminded Jerry that he must stay no longer, 
and he turned to pick up his belongings and go. If 
Larry wasn’t ready yet, he couldn’t wait another 
minute for him. 

Just as he was reaching for the gunny-sack he 
had carefully deposited on a chair, Jerry heard 
some one behind him ask in an audible whisper: — 

‘‘Who is he, anyhow?” 

“The young swell, you mean?” rejoined an even 


160 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


louder whisper. ‘‘He hails from Twenty Rattles 
— sort of chores around over there, I understand.” 

Jerry’s head went up a little, and turning squarely 
upon the whisperers, he announced clearly and 
loudly enough for every one to hear: — 

“My name is Gerald Sturtevandt Arnold, since 
you’re so interested in my affairs. I came here from 
New York, and I’m acting as private mail carrier 
for Superintendent Abbott of the Twenty Rattles 
Mine.” 

The words were no sooner spoken than Jerry 
realized how rude and silly and pompous they 
sounded, and how uncalled for they had been. He 
began to blush furiously with anger and embar- 
rassment as he took in the glances that were being 
exchanged around the room. If any one had looked 
indignant or offended by his manner, he would have 
minded less, but they all appeared so insultingly, so 
justifiably, amused. 

Larry Jukes took this inopportune time to make a 
serious blunder. 

“Wall, now,” he drawled, “I reckon the fault’s 
all mine. I ought to’ve introduced y’u to my young 
friend long since. Allow me, ladies an’ gents all! 
This here is Mr. Jerry Arnold, nephew of a man 
y’u all used to know — o’ that mean, sneakin’, 
ungrateful hound of a Johnnie Sturtevandt!” 

That was the last straw. Larry and Jerry had 
always been more or less like flint and steel, even 
during the period of pleasantest relations between 


JERRY, THE IRRESPONSIBLE 161 


the Arnold household and their old neighbor; but 
never before had Larry been so maddening or 
Jerry so furious. Still, Larry was obviously not 
himself to-night — there was that excuse for him. 
And he was an old man. Deeply rooted in the 
hearts of all Dr. Arnold’s children, even in that of 
hot-tempered Jerry, was a principle their father 
had planted there — respect for old age. With all 
the resolution he possessed, Jerry choked back the 
angry words that surged to his lips. 

‘‘You’re old enough to be my grandfather, Mr. 
Jukes,” he said at last, “and so I can’t say what I 
— what I couldn’t help saying if you were young. 
But I guess you won’t expect me to wait and walk 
home with you, now. I’m afraid you’d find me 
poor company. So I’ll say good night to you here. 

“I’m awfully sorry to have made a scene,” he 
added apologetically to Mrs. Peters. 

“Don’t think another thing about it. Sonny,” 
exclaimed motherly Mrs. Peters. “We all know 
Larry Jukes’ ways, and don’t pay any more atten- 
tion to them than nothin’.” 

“’Twan’t your fault!” declared Miss Tillie Swit- 
zer, indignantly, while the postmaster’s pretty wife 
patted him soothingly on a shoulder that squirmed, 
but was too polite to shake off her sympathetic 
hand. Jerry did wish people wouldn’t cuddle him 
like a little boy. They never did Don, and Don 
was only a year older. 

It was noticeable that the men present made no 


162 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


comments. Perhaps they were thinking that Jerry 
had been served right for his high-mightiness, and 
I’m not sure he hadn’t. 

With a fiercely civil good night to the company, 
poor Jerry, fearful of breaking down and crying 
babyishly from sheer wrath, seized his cap and 
lantern and bolted from the room, stalked the length 
of the deserted store, and, to his infinite relief, found 
himself alone in the cool, fresh darkness. 

He stopped a minute to listen, but the burst of 
mocking laughter he resentfully awaited did not 
come. Instead, there floated out from an open 
window a high, shrill, soprano voice. ‘^Oh, prom- 
ise me — Oh, promise me!” it entreated with a 
metallic buzz, and in such an agony of entreaty that 
it would have seemed advisable to promise her 
anything she wanted, and as speedily as possible. 
Evidently he and his humiliation were already 
mercifully forgotten, and the gramophone was once 
more the center of interest in Mrs. Peters’ sitting- 
room. 

With a sigh of thankfulness Jerry set his face 
homeward. The night was darker than usual, for a 
fleecy drift of rainless clouds hid the stars, but the 
glimmer of his little lantern enabled him to keep to 
his way, and, with his brain still turbulent from the 
unpleasant experience of the evening, he pressed 
steadily on through the woodland, until he had 
covered nearly half the distance to the mine. 

Then, suddenly, as if he had been shot, Jerry 


JERRY, THE IRRESPONSIBLE 163 


stopped short, with an exclamation of horror. It was 
not a wildcat or a grizzly bear; it was not even a high- 
wayman; it was something infinitely worse. He had 
just realized that in the excitement of his hurried 
departure from Angel Flat he had left his gunny-sack 
with all the mine mail, and, worst of all, with that 
precious registered letter, inside, lying on a chair in 
the corner of Mrs. Peters’ sitting-room. 

How could he — how could he have done such an 
inexcusable thing? 

But before he had had time to decide that difficult 
problem, the climax of the tragedy arrived. Another 
lantern came swinging briskly toward him around 
a curve in the trail, and out of the darkness above 
it the relieved voice of the superintendent of Twenty 
Rattles called cheerfully: — 

“That you, Jerry? What was wrong — stage 
late? And my letter — did it come?” 


CHAPTER XV 


THE FALL OF THE STURTEVANDT PRIDE 

Jerry was Jerry — there was no gainsaying that. 
It was to be doubted whether any amount of bitter 
experience would make him as sensible as Robin or 
as responsible as Don. But whatever virtues he 
lacked, he possessed two very important ones. He 
was neither cowardly nor dishonest. There was 
only one square thing to do, and he never thought of 
doing anything else. Miserably conscious of the 
stern, disappointed eyes upon him, he confessed the 
whole story, not even trying to excuse himself. 

^^I’m no end ashamed of myself. I’ll run every 
step of the way back,” he concluded, eager to be off. 

^‘That will be quite unnecessary,” the superin- 
tendent replied, in such cold, quiet tones that poor 
Jerry’s heart sank like lead. ‘‘I consider it safer 
to go on to Angel myself. You had better hasten 
home and relieve your sister’s anxiety. You might 
have considered her, even if you hadn’t enough 
sense of honor to ” 

But Jerry couldn’t stand that. 

Please don’t say what I did was dishonorable! 
I know I was horribly careless, and I ought to have 
remembered what you said about coming directly 

164 


FALL OF STURTEVANDT PRIDE 165 


back, but carelessness isn’t the same as dishonesty. 
I’d die before I’d steal, or read a letter that didn’t 
belong to me, or — or an 3 l;hing like that.” 

^‘I don’t doubt it. You are too proud, I imagine, 
to do the mean, contemptible things that ^no gentle- 
man would do.’ I suppose it has never occurred to 
you that to accept a trust and prove unfaithful to 
it is practically as dishonest as stealing. There 
are times when a lack of a sense of responsibility 
amounts to a lack of a sense of honor. I’m sorry to 
be harsh, Jerry, but I am disappointed in you.” 

Speechless with shame and misery, Jerry watched 
the twinkle of the superintendent’s lantern go bob- 
bing away along the trail toward Angel Flat, disap- 
pearing and reappearing like a firefly through the 
woods. Not till he had watched it quite out of 
sight did he awake to the realization that his own 
lantern had taken advantage of the presence of Mr. 
Abbott’s to go out, leaving him now in utter dark- 
ness. Filled and lighted just before he left the 
Robin’s Nest, it would ordinarily have lasted till 
midnight, but the wick was short, and he had for- 
gotten to replace it. Another example of his inex- 
cusable carelessness! 

Involved in this unhappy web of his own weaving, 
Jerry became desperate. 

“I don’t care!” he sputtered. ‘^I’ll go on in the 
dark, and if I fall over the bluff at the Blue Gorge 
and break my good-for-nothing head, I don’t much 
mind!” 


166 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Then, quick as a flash, the words he had just 
listened to came back to him: There are times when 
a lack of a sense of responsibility amounts to a lack 
of a sense of honor! ’’’ 

How would it make Don and Robin feel if any- 
thing should happen to their beloved scapegrace? 
How sorry Maggie would be if her chum should 
break his neck! Even if he were tired of life 
on his own account, he supposed he ought to con- 
sider the feelings of his family. That it would be 
reckless for him to try to cover in the dark the two 
miles of rough trail that lay between him and Twenty 
Rattles, he well knew. There was one place where 
the path ran close to the edge of a steep bluff. There 
was another where the trail wound among the deep 
prospect cuts and open trial shafts of a long aban- 
doned mine. There were steep descents, where a 
single false step might send him rolling down — 
down — down, with an avalanche of loose stones, 
into the valley of the Mercedes. If he could get 
on the wagon road again, from which the trail had 
branched a mile back, he could follow that to the 
mine safely, but it was several miles farther that 
way, and Mr. Abbott would be sure to reach Twenty 
Rattles ahead of him, in which case Robin would 
be distracted, indeed. 

With a sigh of resignation to a malignant fate, 
Jerry sat down on the fragrant carpet of pine needles, 
and awaited the return of the superintendent. Not 
that he anticipated with any pleasure walking home 


FALL OF STURTEVANDT PRIDE 167 


with that gentleman. He could think of nothing 
more out of keeping with his desires under existing 
circumstances. But it would be irresponsible and 
consequently dishonorable to plunge on into the 
darkness at imminent risk to life and limb, and 
Jerry was never going to be irresponsible again. 
He was done with such childish failings. He had 
turned over a new leaf. 

Please do not laugh at Jerry! Of course he will 
be irresponsible many a time again, and the new 
leaf is sadly liable to be blotted before the end of 
another week. But, after all, a lasting good is to 
come to him from this hard lesson, and often in the 
years to come, the memory of that lonely, remorse- 
ful hour under the dark pines will serve as a whole- 
some reminder of his besetting sin. 

It was with mingled dread and relief that Jerry 
saw the firefly flashing again among the tree trunks 
and underbrush, nearer and nearer, brighter and 
brighter. 

‘‘Hello, Mr. Abbott!’’ he called. “Don’t be 
startled — it’s just me.” The bad grammar of 
Jerry’s statement of identity was only surpassed 
by the subdued humility of his tones. “My lantern 
went out and I had to wait for you.” 

“All right, lad. Sorry you had to wait, but glad 
of your company the rest of the way home.” 

The restored cordiality in Mr. Abbott’s voice 
was very comforting and made Jerry feel the same 
babyish desire to cry that had nearly gotten the 


168 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


better of him at an earlier stage of the evening’s 
adventures. His hot temper and his tender heart 
were Jerry’s two vulnerable points. 

‘‘You found the gunny-sack all right?” Jerry 
ventured to remark after they had walked some 
distance in silence. 

“Yes, right where you left it. I’ve got the letter 
I was so particular about here in my breast pocket, 
safe and sound.” 

“Then maybe you’ll trust me to carry the bag. 
I couldn’t do anything with it out here if I tried, 
unless I dropped it, and you can watch to see I don’t 
do that!” 

If there had been a suspicion of sarcasm in Jerry’s 
speech, the superintendent would not have been 
amused, but the suggestion was so obviously sincere 
and so full of boyish penitence, that he laughed aloud 
in his grufF, hearty way, and handed over the mail- 
sack. Jerry’s spirits began to rise by very slow 
degrees. 

The walk home proved no such ordeal as he had 
dreaded. Wisely concluding that the lesson Jerry 
needed had been sufficiently impressed on his mind 
for one time, Mr. Abbott refrained from any further 
mention of the harrowing subjects of carelessness 
and irresponsibility. Finding that his usually talk- 
ative young companion was feeling still too much 
disgraced and humiliated to say a great deal, he did 
most of the talking himself, rambling on, as one 
subject suggested another, in such an interesting 


FALL OF STURTEVANDT PRIDE 169 


way that Jerry began to be distracted from gloomy 
thoughts in spite of himself, and listened with grow- 
ing attention. 

They had nearly reached the mine, when Mr. 
Abbott, in connection with some incident he was 
relating, chanced to mention the name of Larry 
Jukes. 

*^Mr. Abbott,’’ exclaimed Jerry, quite uncon- 
scious that he was interrupting his employer in the 
middle of a sentence, “there’s one thing I wish you’d 
tell me if you know. What has Larry Jukes got 
against us, and why did he hate Uncle Jonathan 
Sturt evandt so bitterly?” 

“I’m sorry I can’t enlighten you, Jerry. I can 
tell you no more than this. The two men — they 
were about of an age, you know — were partners, and 
the greatest cronies, out here in the early days. That 
was, of course, long before I knew either of them, 
but I’ve been so told. After a time your uncle mar- 
ried and lived away, but Larry stayed, working around 
at different mines or prospecting for a living. Well, 
a matter of eight or ten years ago, old John Sturte- 
vandt came back and settled on your ranch. He 
was a widower and had no family left, but the little 
orphaned grandchild, Maggie. Larry was wild 
with delight when he heard of his old chum’s return 
— threw down his pick in the middle of a job and 
hurried over to welcome him. What it was that 
happened on the occasion of that first meeting of 
the two old friends, I suppose no one knows but 


170 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Larry, now that your uncle is dead. But from that 
time on they hated each other bitterly. There have 
been plenty of stories afloat as to the cause of their 
falling out, but, as I say, no one knows the truth of 
it but Larry, and he wouldn’t tell, no matter who 
asked him.” 

‘^You’ll not catch me asking him!” declared Jerry, 
grimly. “I’m never going to speak to him again!” 

“If I were you, I wouldn’t treasure resentment 
against the poor old chap. He’s old and lonely, 
and he has an uncertain temper; but he means well, 
and I dare say he’s sorry already that he was so 
rough with you. It won’t hurt you to be a little 
charitable, Jerry. We all have our failings, you 
know. ” 

Jerry’s cheeks tingled in the dark at that. 

“I guess that’s so, all right!” he admitted humbly. 
“Well, I’ll speak to him and I’U be decent, but I’ll 
be jiggered if I’m effusively cordial!” 

“If you’re politely dignified, I guess you’ll be 
doing all that’s necessary for a starter. Look out, 
Jerry! — here’s the river. Better keep ahead of 
my lantern — you can see better.” 

The narrow foot bridge was without a railing on 
either side, and one must cross it cautiously, or risk 
a plunge into one of the liveliest rapids of the river. 
Beyond the bridge, the glimmer of a half-dozen 
lights through the foliage indicated the closeness 
of the mine buildings. A hundred feet of climbing 
and they would be at the door of the boarding-house. 


FALL OF STURTEVANDT PRIDE 171 


Jerry, conscious that the time was getting short, 
summoned all his resolution to say something that 
had been forming itself in his brain during the last 
hour. 

“Mr. Abbott!” — in spite of his efforts Jerry’s 
voice sounded a little choky — “Mr. Abbott, you 
haven’t said a word about it, but I know, of course, 
you won’t want me to go to Angel for you any more. 
I shouldn’t have the face to ask you to try me again. 
I shouldn’t even feel sure of myself, now. But we 
do need the money awfully, and it’s going to mean 
harder shifting than ever for Don and Robin if we 
don’t have it. Would you mind trying Don in my 
place? He’s the steadiest old fellow that ever was. 
I know you’d never have to tell Mm you’d found 
him unworthy of your confidence!” 

No one could ever know how much it cost Jerry 
Arnold to make that unselfish plea for his brother, 
instead of begging a chance to redeem himself in 
his own eyes and those of his employer. No one 
could know, but I fancy some one guessed, for Jerry 
felt a kindly hand on his shoulder as Mr. Abbott 
answered : — 

“I don’t doubt for a minute Don’s fitness for the 
position, but we’ll not talk of getting a new mail- 
carrier till we’ve discharged the old one, and I trust 
that won’t be soon. To tell you the truth, Jerry, 
I never had so much confidence in your reliability 
as I shall have now that you have less confidence 
in it yourself. Do you get the idea?” 


172 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


guess I do. You think I’m less likely to make 
mistakes now that my pride has been shattered, 
than when I was so cock-sure of myself. I’ll try 
mighty hard not to disappoint you again, Mr. Abbott. 
I’m — I’m awfully grateful — I can’t begin to tell 
you ” 

‘‘Don’t try to. I shall expect you Tuesday eve- 
ning, as usual, so let’s say no more about it. ” 

Jerry couldn’t have said any more about it if he 
had tried. He was past saying anything just then, 
and could only clutch the hand that Mr. Abbott 
held out to him in a grip of gratitude that made its 
owner wince. Then he turned and ran up the steps 
to the boarding-house. 

The door flew open, and there in the bright glow 
of the lamplight stood Robin, looking tired and pale, 
but with relief and happiness illumining her face as 
she recognized her brother’s step. 

“Oh, Jerry, I’m so glad you’ve come. I’ve been 
imagining all sorts of dreadful things that might 
have happened to you!” the superintendent heard 
her cry, and then, through the open door, he saw 
her standing with her hands on Jerry’s shoulders, 
looking into his face searchingly, but with such sweet- 
ness and almost motherly tenderness, that the eyes of 
the unseen observer filled with unaccustomed tears. 

“The boy’ll come out all right, with a sister like 
that to look after him,” he was thinking, as he went 
on up the trail and blew out the light of his lantern 
at his door. 


CHAPTER XVI 


A HOME FLIGHT 

Supper time at the Robin’s Nest had been the 
loneliest hour of the day, ever since Robin went to 
Twenty Rattles. During the day there was plenty 
of work, indoors and out, to keep Maggie and the 
boys from being too forlorn, and after supper one 
could always go to bed and forget one’s troubles in 
sleep. But for an hour after sundown, when the 
pale yellow afterglow was slowly fading over the 
western buttes, and the insects in the dry grass were 
chirping their sweet, monotonous chorus; when the 
lamps were first lighted and the supper table was 
being set for three lonesome young persons, — then 
was the time when it seemed to them all that they 
couldn’t stand it to let Robin stav away another 
week. 

It was more than three months now since she had 
been at home, save for an hour now and then snatched 
from her manifold duties at the mine. The hus- 
band of the cook so long expected from Minersville 
had had another relapse in July, and the date of 
their arrival at Twenty Rattles had been in conse- 
quence again indefinitely postponed. 

All through the long, fiercely hot days of summer 
Robin had stuck to her post indomitably. The con- 
173 


174 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


stant hard work and the heat had told upon her. 
She had grown thinner and lost much of her pretty 
bloom, but she had kept her health in spite of the 
strain, and had refused with quiet firmness — Jerry 
called it obstinacy — to give up the position so long 
as it remained open to her. And the knowledge that 
the bank at Minersville held nearly a hundred dollars 
of her earnings to help them through the coming 
winter, was more comfort to her and Don than any 
one else could know. 

The money Jerry earned carrying the mail, 
together with that which Don had made selling vege- 
tables from his garden, went a long way toward 
paying the present running expenses of the Robin’s 
Nest household. The butcher from Angel passed 
only once a week with his wagon, so their meat bill 
was low. Jerry’s rod kept the table supplied with 
trout, and when Don could get away from the ranch 
for an hour’s hunting, he nearly always came home 
with squirrels or quail, or maybe a jack-rabbit from 
the chaparral. Jerry turned up his nose at the last- 
named delicacy, but Don and Maggie had true moun- 
tain appetites and laughed at his fussiness. 

The garden, thanks to Don’s unflagging energy 
in weeding, cultivating, and watering, had proven 
a great success. The ground was fairly rich, and 
the spring brook had continued to furnish ample 
water for irrigating purposes, even when the rains 
had been over for weeks and one could cross the 
shrunken Mercedes on stepping-stones almost any- 


A HOME FLIGHT 


175 


where. Besides keeping their own table supplied 
with fresh vegetables, Don had carried many a bas- 
ketful of green pease, corn, string-beans, beets, rad- 
ishes, lettuce, summer squash, and tomatoes, to 
Twenty Rattles, or even as far as Angel Flat, and 
the mines that clustered about that hamlet. Now 
he was watching anxiously the progress of a good-sized 
potato patch that was expected to furnish a winter 
supply of potatoes for the Robin’s Nest. 

Jerry had worked pretty faithfully under Don’s 
supervision, but it could not be denied that farming 
was not his forte, and he was always immensely 
relieved when Don sent him away on some errand 
to a neighboring ranch or mine, or bade him go 
down to the river and catch a mess of trout for 
dinner. 

As for Maggie, she had done her part nobly, so 
happy in the companionship of the new cousins 
who had brought the brightness of youth into her 
lonely little life, that she never dreamed of complain- 
ing of the household cares that rested entirely on 
her shoulders since Robin’s departure, save for an 
occasional lift in dish-washing or sweeping from 
Jerry. If her cooking wasn’t quite up to their sis- 
ter’s, and if the house did sometimes get into that 
mysterious condition known as at sixes and sevens, ” 
her will to please was so earnest and her industry 
so unflagging, that the boys never dreamed of criti- 
cizing, and always carried to Robin enthusiastic 
praise of their little housekeeper. Jerry ate slice 


176 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


after slice of the bread that was still her weak point, 
and never admitted to any one but his amused sis- 
ter that it took “lots of nerve” to do so. 

So the summer had passed, and the hazy loveliness 
of early autumn brooded among the hills. Only 
the tar-weed and the sturdy brakes remained green 
on the long slopes. The flowers were nearly all 
gone, though one might now and then come upon 
a belated clump of golden-yellow daisies, or a spray 
of scarlet columbine. The air was heavy now through 
the long, golden days, with the pungent smoke of 
far-away forest fires, and sweet with the incense of 
sun- warmed pine and spruce and cedar. For many 
weeks there had been no drop of rain, and for days 
the sun had risen and set in a cloudless monotony 
of blue. 

As I was saying, the supper hour at the Robin’s 
Nest was the loneliest hour of the day for Don and 
Maggie and Jerry, and, since of all the days of the 
week Sunday was the very loneliest, it followed 
inevitably that the supper hour on Sunday evening 
should be a time of concentrated melancholy and 
depression. 

Maggie’s “Come to supper, boys!” was received 
on the Sunday evening in question with yawns, sighs, 
and a lamentable lack of enthusiasm. Jerry lazily 
lounged out of the hammock on the porch where 
he had been dreaming, and Don got up very delib- 
erately from the piazza steps, where he had brought 
his book for a last glimmer of daylight. It was a 


A HOME FLIGHT 


177 


very sober little group that gathered around the 
table on which Maggie had set out the simple supper 
of bread and milk, cookies and cottage-cheese. In 
silence she filled the three yellow bowls with Wind- 
fall’s rich, creamy milk. In silence Don and Jerry 
broke their bread into their bowls. 

“I call this all-fired lonesome,” complained Jerry, 
dolefully, between two languid spoonfuls, when the 
silence became so uncomfortably profound that 
some one really had to say something. 

“It’s not so hilariously cheerful as it might be,” 
admitted Don. “I doubt if anybody’d mistake 
us for a comic opera.” 

“If Robin would come it would be all right, 
straight away. It’s just having her away that’s the 
matter.” 

“Right you are, Maggie!” cried Jerry, and Don 
echoed the sentiment with sad enthusiasm. 

“It’s so pleasant to know I’m being missed!” 
laughed a sweet voice in the doorway. “I know 
now that eavesdroppers don’t always hear evil of 
themselves. ” 

Jerry’s whoop of delight voiced everybody’s feel- 
ings. Robin found herself embraced by three pairs 
of arms at once, and overwhelmed with more ques- 
tions than she could possibly answer for some time 
to come. 

“How’d you get away just at supper time?” 

“How long can you stay?” 

“Have you had your supper?” 


178 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


‘‘Aren’t you awfully tired?” 

“Do let me sit down and talk for a minute, and 
I’ll tell you all about it,” she protested. “I might 
as well have gotten into a cave of bears. ” 

Maggie flew for another bowl and spoon; Don 
set a chair at Robin’s old place at the table, while 
Jerry took off his sister’s hat with much fumbling 
of the pins and a tug or two, quite unintentional, 
at her hair. 

“You see, to-morrow is Labor Day,” she began 
to explain. 

“They all are,” put in Jerry, with a groan of 
recollection. 

“Jerry mustn’t interrupt!” frowned Maggie, 
severely. 

“Go on, Robin,” encouraged Don. “We’d got 
as far as Labor Day.” 

“No, we hadn’t! We don’t get to Labor Day 
till to-morrow,” contended Jerry. 

“We certainly won’t get anywhere before to- 
morrow if you naughty children don’t let me get on 
with my story.” 

“Please forgive us! It’s all because your coming 
home has made us so light-hearted,” apologized 
Jerry.^ 

“Light-minded is the word, if you’re referring 
to yourself. Go on, Robin, I’ll choke him off if he 
says another word.” 

“Well, as I was saying, to-morrow is Labor ” 

“Chestnuts!” shouted Jerry, the irrepressible, 


A HOME FLIGHT 


179 


and the story had to be interrupted again, while Don 
tied a handkerchief securely over the culprit’s mouth 

— a feat which was not accomplished without a 
struggle, you may be sure. 

When Robin finally obtained a hearing, she ex- 
plained that Mr. Abbott had come into the kitchen 
to speak to her while the men were at supper. He 
had said she was looking tired, and had told her to 
leave the evening work for Larry to do and go home 
for the night. And since it was Labor Day on the 
morrow, the men would not be working, and they 
could get along very well on what Larry would pre- 
pare for them, until noon. 

“I must be back at the mine by eleven to-morrow 
morning to get dinner,” she concluded, ^‘but that’s 
hours away, and I’m not going to think of it, even, 
to-night. Oh, you don’t know how good it seems 
to be with you all again!” 

Maybe you don’t think it seems good to have 
you here,” said Don, hanging affectionately over 
the back of her chair. 

The evenings were beginning to be cool — indeed 
their California evenings had never been very warm 

— and Robin’s suggestion that a little fire be kin- 
dled in the living-room met with no opposition. 
Don brought in a great armful of evergreen boughs 
that he had trimmed from the trees about the house, 
and with these he started a snapping, fragrant little 
blaze on the long-cold hearth. After Jerry and 
Maggie had disposed of the supper dishes, with 


180 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


more celerity than was altogether compatible with 
cleanliness, the family gathered around the fire, 
Robin resting luxuriously in the big rocker, Maggie 
perching on its arm, with her curly dark head just 
above her cousin’s brown one, and the boys sprawling 
comfortably on the big bearskin at their sister’s feet. 

Such a cosy, fire-lighted visit as they had! It 
didn’t seem possible that this was the same house 
which had been so empty and forlorn an hour before. 
There was so much to ask and to tell that the con- 
versation never lulled for several hours, and then, 
when everything had been said, it was delightful just 
to sit quietly together, listening to the cheery snap- 
ping of Don’s fire of spruce and cedar boughs, and 
watching the swarms of little red sparks that chased 
one another through the feathery twigs. 

I think the little clock on the mantel really hated 
to disturb this happy scene, but when clocks are 
wound as tight as Don had wound this one that very 
Sunday, they have to do their duty, whether or no. 

“Eight — nine — ten — eleven — why, children, 
it’s twelve o’clock!” exclaimed Robin. “Where has 
the evening gone?” 

“Mr. Abbott sent you home to rest. You ought 
to have gone to bed long ago. We’re a selfish lot 
to have kept you up till midnight,” said Don, self- 
reproachfully. 

“Nothing could have rested me more than this 
has done, but we mustn’t stay up any longer, or I 
won’t be in trim for work to-morrow.” 


A HOME FLIGHT 


181 


wish y a didn’t have to go back to-morrow,” 
mourned Maggie. “It’s just awful lonesome with- 
out you!” 

“I know, dearie, and it’s lonesome for me, too; 
but maybe it won’t be much longer before I can 
come home Tor keeps,’ as Jerry used to say. Mr. 
Abbott had a letter from Mrs. Smith the other day, 
saying her husband was much better, and they hoped 
to come up very soon.” 

“ ‘The sooner the quicker!’ ” quoted Jerry, senten- 
tiously. 

With a good night kiss all around, the family 
separated for the night, Don and Jerry climbing the 
steep stairs to their chamber under the roof, while 
Robin followed Maggie into the cosy little bedroom, 
undressed, and laid herself down to rest, with the 
homesick longing gone from her breast for the first 
night in many weeks. 


CHAPTER XVII 


HOW SEPTEMBER TURNED TO MAY 

Robin had grown so accustomed to waking very 
early that she opened her eyes next morning long 
before Maggie’s dark curls had stirred from the 
pillow. Her first thought was that she must be up 
at once, and starting breakfast for the weary night- 
shift men. Then, with a delightful sense of relaxa- 
tion, as she realized where she was, she sank back 
upon her pillows for another nap. This time she 
slept long and soundly, but was awakened at last 
by an animated discussion outside her half-open 
door. 

“I tell you she’s dead tired — let her alone!” 
Don was protesting in a disgusted undertone. 

“But she’s got to be back at eleven, and she’ll be 
mad enough if we let her waste all the morning 
sleeping!” insisted Jerry. 

“Besides, my breakfast will be all dried up and 
cold and horrid for her if we wait any longer,” 
declared Maggie. “ The trout and muffins are just 
exactly perfect this minute.” 

Robin jumped out of bed, crying merrily: — 

“Those in favor of getting me up have the best of 
the argument and the majority of the votes, I’ll be 
182 


SEPTEMBER TURNED TO MAY 183 


dressed in two minutes, so sit right down for your 
breakfast and don’t wait for me.” 

But of course they did wait, and nothing suffered 
a particle for the few minutes’ delay. The coffee 
was clear as amber, the muffins were the lightest 
and crispest and most beautifully browned that 
Maggie had ever made, and Robin declared she had 
not eaten anything so delicious in many a day as the 
trout which Jerry had been up with the sun to catch 
for her breakfast. 

It was an unusually beautiful morning, in a 
country where every morning was a revelation of 
beauty and freshness. A cool, smoky breeze was 
blowing, and a drifting haze of white clouds alter-* 
nately hid and revealed the sun. All the doors and 
windows in the Robin’s Nest were wide open, and 
the murmur of the soft wind in the pines, the home-’ 
like carol of a lone robin, the mellow gurgle of the 
spring brook over its stony bed, floated pleasantly 
in to the ears of the breakfasters. 

Just as the last crisp trout was disappearing, a 
step was heard outside and a brisk rap on the open 
door. 

Maybe it’s Larry Jukes,” said Don, jumping 
up to answer the knock. 

Jerry, who had not yet been able to forgive and 
forget a certain memorable interview between him- 
self and Larry, promptly assumed an expression of 
chilling civility, but dropped it as promptly for one 
of pleased surprise. 


184 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


“That isn’t Larry — it’s Mr. Forrest!” he ex- 
claimed, throwing down his knife and fork, and 
hurrying into the living-room. 

“Good morning, Mr. Forrest,” said Robin, follow- 
ing her brothers to the door and greeting the new- 
comer with a welcoming smile. “Have you come 
to tell me I’m staying too long? Did Mr. Abbott 
send you after me?” 

“Not a bit of it. Miss Robin,” Mr. Forrest replied. 
“I did come on business, though, and I walked very 
fast for fear you would start back before I got here. 
And Larry gave us the usual horrible concoction 
he calls coffee, for breakfast this morning. I don’t 
want you to think I’m hinting — wouldn’t give you 
such an impression for worlds — but ” 

“Maggie, dear, run and put the coffee-pot back 
on the stove for a minute,” interrupted Robin, com- 
prehendingly. “It won’t be fresh, Mr. Forrest, 
but it was very good this morning.” 

“It will be nectar, I assure you. I only hope 
you didn’t think I was hinting?” 

“How could we?” asked Robin, reassuringly, 
while Jerry refilled the cream pitcher and Don re- 
ported apologetically that the last muffin was gone. 

“We haven’t been so hungry all summer,” he 
declared. “I guess it was because Robin was 
here.” 

“I can believe that,” said the young man, heartily. 
“Our gain has been very decidedly your loss. I 
suppose you wouldn’t be exactly sorry to get her 


SEPTEMBER TURNED TO MAY 185 


back for good and all/' he went on meditatively. 

Hasn't she been away long enough, Maggie ? Aren’t 
you tired of keeping house for a couple of ravenous 
young bears?” 

^^What is it you are getting at, Mr. Forrest?” 
demanded Robin, with directness. ^^You said you 
came on business.” 

did. Very unpleasant business. I came to 
inform you — really this is very disagreeable ! Miss 
Arnold, can't you guess the melancholy truth and 
save me from blurting it out in all its baldness?” 

“You look mighty cheerful for any one who's 
bringing bad news!” scoffed Jerry. 

“Wouldn't you call it disagreeable, young fellow, 
to have to go to a lady and tell her that her services 
were no longer required ? — in short, that she was, 
so to speak, ‘bounced' from her position?” 

“What do you mean? Please don't keep me in 
suspense!” entreated Robin, her eyes shining with 
what may have been dread, but which looked much 
more like hope. 

“I mean, to express it in the elegant English in 
which Larry made the announcement to Mr. Abbott, 
that ‘them thar Smiths from down below hez 
came!"' 

“The cook!” cried Don, eagerly. 

“The cook and the cook’s husband.” 

“Whoop-la! Glory Hallelujah!” yelled Jerry. 

“Oh, Robin, you won't have to go back ever 
again!” cried Maggie, joyously. 


186 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Then every one but Robin began to talk at once. And 
what did Robin do then, poor thing” ? She wouldn’t 
want me to tell, for she was dreadfully ashamed 
of herself, but I do not believe you will think the less 
of her for it. She ran away from them all into the 
little bedroom, threw herself on the bed, and cried — 
not from sorrow over the loss of her position, far 
from it! but from sheer joy that the long hard task 
that duty had set her was done at last, done without 
shirking, and that the home life she loved was to 
begin again. 

She was not allowed to weep long, however, for 
Don sought her out, dried her eyes on the sheet, and 
dragged her back to the living-room, blushing and 
apologetic, with tears on her lashes and a tremu- 
lous smile on her lips. 

'^Do you think me a perfect goose, Mr. Forrest?” 
she asked in a husky little voice. 

do not,” he replied simply, but something in 
his tone made Robin blush more than ever, and wish 
she hadn’t asked his opinion. 

forgot to tell you,” said John Forrest, ^Hhat 
Mr. Abbott sent word that you didn’t need to come 
back to the mine for your things. He said he would 
have Mrs. Smith put them in your trunk and Larry 
would bring it over some time to-morrow. And 
here’s something else I nearly forgot.” 

He took an envelope from his pocket and handed 
it to Robin. When she opened it, out fell a crisp 
check. Jerry picked it up. 


SEPTEMBER TURNED TO MAY 187 


^^Pay to order of Roberta Arnold twenty --jive 
and no one-hundredths dol ” 

'‘Why, Jerry,’’ Robin interrupted, "you can’t 
be reading it right. That’s fifteen dollars more than 
Mr. Abbott owes me.” 

"Do you think I can’t read?” asked offended 
Jerry, handing her the check to see for herself. 

"Maybe his note will explain,” suggested Mr. 
Forrest, and Robin looked to see. 

Dear Miss Arnold P' she read aloud; Forrest 
will explain matters to you^ hut I have a word to say 
on my own account. I want to thank you for your 

faithfulness and ” Here she stopped short, 

and, in spite of protests, read to herself the re- 
mainder of the superintendent’s note. 

"He says,” she said, as she folded the sheet and 
put it back into the envelope, "that since he has not 
given me two weeks’ notice of dismissal, as he is in 
the habit of doing with his employees, it is only proper 
that he should add two weeks’ wages to the sum 
already due me. I don’t quite understand his reason- 
ing,” she commented, with a puzzled look, "for of 
course I knew all the time that my position was only 
a temporary one. I feel as if I ought not to take it, 
when I haven’t earned it. Is it usual, Mr. Forrest ?” 

"The case isn’t a usual one, and can’t be dealt 
with by usual methods,” evaded that young man. 
"My advice would be not to quarrel with the good 
the gods provide. You’ve certainly earned all you’re 
getting, and a lot more, Miss Robin!” 


188 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


don’t know about that. I only know that 
people are very good to me, and that I’m more 
grateful and happy than I can tell.” 

“Oh, what a nice day this is!” sighed Maggie. 

“^O frabjous day!’ ” crooned Jerry, rapturously. 

“They say one swallow doesn’t make a summer,” 
mused John Forrest, smiling, “but I can testify 
before any ornithological society that I’ve seen one 
Robin turn autumn weather into spring.” 

“It’s an extraordinarily jolly occasion, and ought 
to be celebrated accordingly. Anyway, it’s unpa- 
triotic to work on Labor Day. I move we have 
a picnic.” 

“I second Jerry’s motion, with the proviso that 
I be invited to join it,” said Mr. Forrest. 

“Of course you shall be invited,” said Don, 
cordially. 

“However much we may dislike your society, 
we couldn’t be so rude as to leave you out when it’s 
your news that has made a picnic possible.” 

Maggie regarded Robin with astonished dis- 
approval of this grudging invitation, but it was 
noticeable that its recipient seemed quite satis- 
fied. 

The day was so alluringly beautiful, and the 
hearts of the five people at the Robin’s Nest 
were so in tune to its loveliness, that it would have 
been hard indeed to settle down to ordinary tasks, 
and Jerry’s happy proposal received unanimous 
approval. 


SEPTEMBER TURNED TO MAY 189 


“I know a magnificent place for a picnic/^ said 
Mr. Forrest, “but it’s a long walk — way up to the 
Saddle between the Upper and Middle Buttes. I’m 
afraid, boys, that your sister is too well tired out 
for such a tramp.” 

“No, indeed — I could walk for miles to-day!” 
cried Robin, ambitiously. 

“Maybe you could, but you’d be tuckered 
to-morrow,” objected Don. 

“What’s the matter with Stubby’s being in- 
vited?” asked Jerry. “He could carry Robin and 
the baskets — pack ’em, I suppose you natives 
would say — and the rest of us could walk the 
distance easily.” 

As usual, Jerry had to come to the rescue with 
one of his bright ideas. Robin protested against 
the absurdity of saying she could not walk, but her 
objections were overruled, and Jerry was dispatched 
to find and saddle the little donkey. 

Robin and Maggie retired to the kitchen to clear 
away the breakfast things and “scare up” a lunch, 
as Jerry expressed it. Don hurried out to attend 
to several little tasks that could not be left 
undone, even at the risk of being unpatriotic. John 
Forrest, being assured that nothing was expected 
of him but a little patience, sat down on the steps 
in the morning sunlight, fanned by soft breaths of 
the sweet, Indian-summer-like air, and thinking 
of many things, but conscious that through all his 
wandering thoughts ran an undercurrent of happi- 


190 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


ness. Perhaps there had been a little homesickness 
in his heart all these years — a loneliness that was 
quite routed to-day by the cordial, simple friend- 
liness with which the dwellers in the Robin’s Nest 
were receiving and making him one of themselves 
on this day of their rejoicing. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


A PICNIC AND AN UNINVITED GUEST 

It was a long climb from the Robin’s Nest to the 
chosen picnic ground, and, thanks to the impromptu 
nature of the plan, the picnickers were rather late in 
starting. Consequently it was well on toward noon, 
when, warm and weary, they came out at last upon 
the high, broad crest of the ridge that dipped between 
the Upper and Middle Buttes to form the ‘^Saddle.” 
The view before and behind them was magnificent 
here, and Mr. Forrest’s choice was approved by 
exclamations of delight from every one save Maggie. 

‘‘You’re not going to stop here, are you?” she 
asked in a disappointed tone. 

“Why not? I don’t see anything wrong with 
this place!” Jerry had sunk to the ground, mop- 
ping his brow with his handkerchief. 

Mr. Forrest had already helped Robin down from 
Stubby’s back, and Don was looking for a shady 
place for the lunch baskets. 

“It’s pretty here, but we’re nowhere near at the 
prettiest place,” Maggie protested. “It’s lots higher 
up there.” She pointed to the top of the Upper 
Butte, which rose steeply still several hundred feet 
above them — the highest point anywhere in the 
region. 


191 


192 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


‘Ht would mean a good half-hour more of puffing 
and panting to get up there, and we’re all tired now, 
Maggie,” expostulated Mr. Forrest. 

‘H’m not!” maintained the little girl, shaking 
back the curls from her brown little face and look- 
ing at the young man with a shade of condescension 
in her black eyes. ^H’m not, but of course I’m used 
to mountains. I’ve lived here ever since I can 
remember.” 

‘H’ve been at Twenty Rattles a matter of four 
years myself, but I’ll have to admit I’ve never had 
energy enough to climb to the top of the Upper 
Butte. I don’t believe you’d find it such fun, your- 
self, Maggie. It’s steeper than it looks, and where 
it isn’t rocky, it’s slippery as ice with pine needles.” 

Maggie looked superior. 

^‘Why, I’ve been up there just lots of times!” she 
said. 

‘^You, Maggie?” exclaimed Robin. ^‘You little 
mountain sprite! Do you mean that you have been 
way up there, all alone, miles from everywhere? 
What did you come for?” 

don’t know what for — only I liked it. I 
wasn’t never — ever lonesome up there. I’ve stayed 
all day, lots of times. Gran’pa never cared. It 
was my place. Oh, it’s so nice up there! I wish 
you weren’t too tired to go!” 

The child’s voice was so full of disappointment 
and pleading that the others hadn’t the heart to 
refuse her, even though they did feel that they had 


AN UNINVITED GUEST 


193 


had climb enough for one day. Robin mounted 
her steed again; Jerry, with a prodigious sigh of 
resignation, got to his feet, and the cavalcade 
moved on. 

Maggie, delighted, flew ahead to lead the way, 
looking back now and then over her shoulder to see 
if the rest were close behind, or to call back some 
warning where the path was especially steep or 
rough. Light-footed and tireless, flitting on just 
above them with her loose black hair blown about 
her shoulders, looking down with bright eyes and 
laughter from some overhanging rock or huge, 
fallen tree trunk, she seemed, as Mr. Forrest told 
Robin, like a little oread strayed away from the 
mountains of ancient Greece to dwell in these 
mountains of the western world. 

Robin laughed at the fancy. 

“Who ever heard of an oread in a brown calico 
frock, with hobnails in her shoes ? I’ll tell you what 
Maggie is. She’s a naughty little elf, beguiling us 
up to some place where we shall all fall over a preci- 
pice and break our necks!” 

“Yes, and they’ll name the place after the 
tragedy, and all the tourists will come up to see the 
spot where we met a romantic end,” suggested Don, 
who was walking at Stubby’s head. “They’ll 
call it ‘Death Drop’ or ” 

“Why not ‘The Ninny-hammers’ Plunge’ or 
‘The Fall of the Freaks’?” grumbled Jerry, who 
was trailing along behind, holding on to poor 


194 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Stubby’s tail for assistance at the steepest places. 
‘‘What a set of lunatics we were to let that young 
one drag us way up here! I’m about dead.” 

The conversation languished after that, for all the 
breath one had was needed in climbing, and the rest 
of the ascent was accompanied only by the crunching 
of the stony trail under Stubby’s nimble feet, and the 
hard breathing of the climbers. Robin begged once 
to be allowed to dismount and give the little beast 
she rode a rest, but Don sternly bade her sit still. 

It was over at last — the long pull up the butte, 
and they stood together at the very crest of the moun- 
tain, with the whole world, so it seemed to their 
dazzled eyes, spread below them, and with the 
wind in their faces so thrillingly pure and sweet that 
it must have blown to them straight from the blue 
Pacific — two hundred miles away. Before them 
stretched the hill ranges, darkly green near by 
with their forests of cone-bearing trees; farther 
away growing purple and blue, misty with distance 
and the haze of early autumn. There were giant 
trees here on the crest of the butte, trees that tow- 
ered so high above them that the sound of the wind 
came down to them very faintly. There was no 
underbrush anywhere in sight, and the trees bore no 
branches for so great a height above the ground that 
the place seemed like a vast cathedral, with mighty 
columns to uphold its lofty roof of green. So won- 
derful, so holy a place did it seem, in its beauty, its 
remoteness, and its peace, that the little band of pic- 



f 


• w 




AN UNINVITED GUEST 


195 


nickers for a long moment could find no word of 
comment. Silent, they stood side by side, gazing 
about them in delight, wonder and awe. 

‘T give up, Maggie,” Mr. Forrest admitted at 
last in a sober voice. ‘‘My picnic ground pales 
into insignificance beside this place of yours.” 

Jerry shook off the unaccustomed seriousness 
with which the beauty of the surroundings had over- 
whelmed even him. 

“What he means in English, Peggy, is that your 
spot knocks the spots off his spot! It does, too.” 

“Knocks the spots! Oh, Jerry, how can you 
spoil it all by such an expression?” cried Robin, in 
horror. “I don^t believe you have any soul!” 

“Well, I can’t keep keyed up to such a pitch all 
the time. I like all this” — with a comprehensive 
gesture — “as well as you do; but that doesn’t alter 
the fact that I’m awfully tired and hungry.” 

This sentiment evidently found an echo in the 
humble breast of one member of the party. Stubby 
laid back his ears, stuck out his nose, and brayed 
long and emphatically. 

“It’s no use, Robin,” sympathized Don. “No 
one could possibly stay up in the clouds long with 
such earthy people as Jerry and Stubby about. You 
might as well come down yourself, and get the 
lunch unpacked.” 

And Robin sighed and obeyed. 

It was while the picnickers were peacefully lunch- 
ing under the pines that something happened. 


196 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


“Hark — what was that?’’ asked Robin, holding 
up a hand to stop Jerry in the middle of a remark. 

They all listened, and presently glanced excitedly 
at each other, for the sound had come again, this 
time nearer. 

‘Ts it a mountain lion, do you suppose?” asked 
Jerry, breathlessly. 

But Mr. Forrest shook his head, and Maggie said 
decidedly: — 

^‘No — ’tain’t a mountain lion. I heard one 
once, right back of our house, up the mountain. 
Gran’pa knew what it was right away, but he couldn’t 
go up and shoot it ’cause the snow was so dreadfully 
deep.” 

^‘Probably it’s a coyote howling. Don’t you 
think so, Mr. Forrest?” asked Don; but before the 
latter could answer, Robin cried: — 

“It’s coming straight toward us across the Saddle 
— hark!” 

“It isn’t a dog?” queried Jerry, doubtfully, after 
they had listened in silence to the melancholy sounds 
coming ever nearer and louder, as the unseen animal 
approached the Upper Butte, apparently by the 
same trail they had followed. 

Stubby was growing excited, pointing his long, 
furry, mouse-colored ears in the direction of the 
nearing mystery. 

“Wish we’d brought the rifle,” said Jerry. “You 
haven’t a revolver about you, have you, Mr. Forrest ? ” 

“Nothing more formidable than a jack-knife, 


AN UNINVITED GUEST 


197 


Jerry. But I hardly think we’ll feel the need of 
firearms. There comes the stranger, now. See, 
Miss Robin — just this side of the big live-oak down 
on the Saddle! My, what a beauty!” 

A beautiful greyhound, its lithe, graceful body 
bounding lightly up the rough trail, was galloping 
directly toward them, pausing now and then to lift 
its head and bay mournfully. Its high breeding 
was evident enough, but it was so thin that every rib 
showed plainly along its gray sides; a lost dog, and 
a half starved one, obviously. 

‘‘He’s after us, all right,” said Don. ‘‘See, he’s 
circling around that big rock just as we had to do.” 

“Poor fellow — probably he thinks we’re his lost 
master,” said Robin. 

“No, he doesn’t!” contradicted Jerry. “You 
can be sure he would know his master from any- 
body else. He’s just hoping we’re good Samaritans. ” 

“Be careful. Sis. He may be cross,” protested 
Don, holding back his sister who was starting im- 
pulsively forward to greet the poor dog. Robin’s 
love for animals never admitted a judicious doubt 
as to their good nature. 

Within a few yards of them the animal stopped 
short, lifting his aristocratic head, and gazing steadily, 
beseechingly at them out of a pair of beautiful, wist- 
ful brown eyes. Then he pointed his slim nose 
skyward and bayed again. 

“ Poor old boy — he’s trying to tell us all about 
his troubles,” said Mr. Forrest; but Robin had 


198 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


dropped to her knees and was talking reassuringly 
to the hound, holding out a sandwich toward him 
and coaxing him to come and take it. Evidently he 
had been used to afectionate treatment, for, after only 
a minute’s hesitation, he came up to her, wagging 
his tail, in a slow, tentative way that said, plainer 
than words: — 

don’t know who you are. Madam, but I like 
your looks and I’m ready to meet you halfway. 
And as to this sandwich — well, since you insist — 
ah, thank you! Any more like that around?” 

^^Help yourself, old fellow!” urged Jerry, hospit- 
ably, dumping a miscellaneous assortment of pro- 
visions on the ground, and the uninvited guest 
hastened to dispose of his share of the picnic 
lunch. 

Where do you suppose he came from?” Robin 
wondered aloud. But that was a question destined 
never to be answered. From his famished condition 
it looked as if the hound had been lost in the 
mountains for some days at least. Whether he had 
strayed away from some hunter or traveler, or had 
wandered from some mine or lumber camp, he only 
knew, and the story was beyond the power of even 
his eloquent eyes and tail to express. On his neck 
was a handsome collar, but the silver plate that 
adorned it gave no clue to the ownership of the 
wearer. Trump” was the legend engraved thereon 
— ‘‘Trump,” and nothing more. 

“‘Trump’!” read Don, bending over the dog’s 


AN UNINVITED GUEST 199 

neck to examine the inscription. So you’re Trump, 
are you?” 

With a whine of delight at the sound of his name, 
the dog put his paws on Don’s breast and licked 
the boy’s hands ecstatically. Don put his arm 
around Trump’s neck, stroked his long, silken ears, 
and talked to him with the understanding and sym- 
pathy of one who has known and loved dogs from 
his babyhood. 

‘^He’s somebody’s pet, all right. I’m sorry for 
the fellow that lost him,” said Jerry. 

“Do you suppose we’ll ever find his owner?” 
asked Robin of the engineer. 

“Very doubtful, I’m afraid. He may have wan- 
dered for miles before he struck our trail and looked 
us up,” replied Mr. Forrest. “You made a great 
mistake not having your master’s name instead of 
your own on that collar. Master Trump!” he 
added. 

“What are we going to do with him?” asked 
Maggie. 

“Adopt him, of course,” said Jerry, without a 
minute’s hesitation. 

“I don’t know about that,” said Don, slowly, his 
hand still resting caressingly on the dog’s head as 
he spoke. “He’s a fine dog, and he’s sort of thrown 
himself on our hospitality; but it would be awfully 
foolish in us to adopt another member into our family, 
when it’s all we can do to keep ourselves going. 
Trump would eat pretty near as much as one of us. 


200 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


and I^m willing to wager he’s not been used to rough 
fare.” 

Don’s so everlastingly foresighted,” complained 
Jerry aside to Mr. Forrest; but if he expected sym- 
pathy from that source he was doomed to disappoint- 
ment. 

‘Ht’s well for you that he is, young fellow!” 

‘^But we can’t turn him away to starve, Don, of 
course!” cried Robin. ‘^That would be simply 
outrageous!” 

'^He can have his quarter of all my meals,” de- 
clared Jerry, magnanimously; an offer the gener- 
osity of which was perhaps influenced by the fact 
that he had just lunched heartily and couldn’t realize 
how hungry he would be at supper time. 

“I hadn’t meant to suggest that we let him starve, ” 
said Don, a trifle hurt at the implication of hard- 
heartedness on his part. “I only thought perhaps 
we’d better try to find him a good home somewhere 
else.” 

“Suppose you let me do the adopting,” suggested 
Mr. Forrest, quietly. “I’ve been meaning to get 
a dog for a year past, and Mr. Abbott has often said 
he’d like to have a good one at the mine. If Trump’s 
master never turns up, he can have a good home at 
Twenty Rattles as long as he lives.” 

Hearing his name, the dog came over to where 
Mr. Forrest was sitting, laid his head on the young 
man’s knee, and looked up questioningly into his 
face. 


AN UNINVITED GUEST 


201 


Is it a go, old boy ? Do you want to be my dog ? ” 
asked John Forrest. 

Trump whined softly, as if to say he understood. 
Then, lifting one gray paw, he offered it to his new 
master, and the two shook hands soberly on their 
bargain. 


CHAPTER XIX 


TRUMP JUSTIFIES HIS NAME 

For several hours longer the party lingered on 
the crest of the mountain, enjoying the calm beauty 
of the afternoon, the rest from toil, and, best of all, 
one another’s companionship after the weeks of 
separation. 

Robin had tucked a book into one of the baskets, 
and for a while Mr. Forrest read aloud, while his 
hearers reclined luxuriously on the soft carpet of 
pine needles, listening dreamily to the sound of the 
wind in the tree-tops and to his low, well-modulated 
voice. 

When the sun began to sink low over the western 
hills, the book was laid aside, and they all sat silent, 
watching the beautiful decline of the day. From 
the valleys before them the sunshine was gradually 
withdrawn, higher and higher up their sloping sides, 
till only the very tops of the hills were still bathed in 
the warm, bright glow. Mysterious purple shadows 
gathered among the trees in the depths of these sun- 
deserted valleys. As the sun sank lower and lower, 
the western sky began to bum with a strange, lurid 
light, like the glow of some vast conflagration, leagues 
upon leagues away. 


202 


TRUMP JUSTIFIES HIS NAME 203 


‘Ht’s the smoke in the air that makes it look so 
funny,’’ Maggie volunteered. ‘H’ve watched it like 
that from here lots of times, and sometimes the fires 
have come so near that I could see little red streaks 
of flame running up the trees, ’way, ’way off.” 

Don’t the fires ever get up this far?” asked Robin. 

^‘Sometimes they do,” replied John Forrest. 
‘‘Haven’t you ever noticed that there are none of 
these big trees that are not charred, more or less, 
up to a good many feet above the ground? That 
is the work of fires that weren’t fierce enough to 
destroy the larger trees, but succeeded in scarring 
their trunks and in cleaning out all the underbrush 
beneath them. Once or twice since I’ve been at 
Twenty Rattles fires have come near enough so that 
we’ve had to quit work at the mine and turn out all 
hands to fight them.” 

“How did you do it ?” asked Don, who was always 
anxious to learn how to meet the emergencies that 
might arise in their new surroundings. 

“Chiefly by felling trees and clearing out brush 
to make a space the fire can’t cross, and by ‘back- 
firing,’ taking advantage of the direction the wind 
is almost sure to blow at certain times of the day. 
It isn’t so very hard to control a forest fire if it’s 
taken in time and the wind isn’t too high.” 

“What starts ’em?” inquired Jerry. 

“Different things. Sometimes sparks from a 
locomotive, but probably oftener somebody’s care- 
lessness in building camp-fires in the woods in very 


204 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


dry weather. It’s worth bearing in mind up here 
that the man who forgets to throw water on the 
embers of the fire he is leaving, or who empties his 
pipe into the dry grass, is likely to cost the govern- 
ment thousands of acres of the finest timber in the 
world, to say nothing of endangering life and the 
property of individuals.” 

Jerry wriggled uncomfortably as he remembered 
how on his last trip to Angel he had struck a match 
to relight his lantern and had thrown it, still burn- 
ing, aside into the underbrush, never thinking to 
watch whether or not it went out. Well, he wouldn’t 
be guilty of that sort of folly again. 

‘‘ Don’t you think it’s time we were starting home ? ” 
asked Robin. ‘^See, it’s almost dark down at the 
Robin’s Nest.” 

They turned away from the glory of the sunset 
to look where she pointed. Far, far below them, to 
the east, and beyond a slender thread of darkening 
silver that was the Mercedes, they could see the 
Robin’s Nest, looking like a child’s house of blocks, 
set in its little green clearing among the trees. 

The lunch baskets were tied securely to Stubby’s 
saddle, one on each side, — Robin having declared 
she was entirely rested and preferred to walk home, — 
and the picnic party started down the butte, slipping 
and sliding more or less till the comparatively level 
ground of the Saddle was reached. From there 
down to the road and river, the slope, though con- 
stant, was not so steep. 


TRUMP JUSTIFIES HIS NAME 205 


They had covered half the distance home, when 
something happened so exciting as to eclipse the 
previous interest of the day. Don and Jerry were 
listening with eager attention to John Forrest’s 
description of his hairbreadth escape from a great 
forest fire in Canada, some years before. Maggie 
was leading Stubby, and Trump was trotting quietly 
at the side of his new master. The sunshine was, of 
course, quite gone from this, the northeast slope of 
the mountain, and it was beginning to be twilight 
along the trail. 

It was Don who heard a sudden faint cry of utter 
terror that made his heart stand still. 

^^Hark!” he commanded. “What is that?” 

Jerry and Mr. Forrest looked at him in amaze- 
ment, for they had heard nothing. But Maggie, 
too, had heard. 

“It’s Robin — it’s Robin!” she gasped. “Where 
is she?” 

For Robin was nowhere to be seen. The little 
group scattered, running hither and yon to look for 
the familiar figure that had been in their midst only 
a few minutes before. 

But there was one member of the party that did 
not hesitate. That one cry had been enough for 
Trump, and like a flash he was leaping^away toward 
the sound, his head erect, his slim gray body rising 
in long swift bounds over the tar-weed and ferns, as 
he covered the ground between with the marvelous 
speed and grace of his noble breed. He found her 


206 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


but a little way from the trail, from which she had 
strayed in a vain search for late wild flowers. Only 
an intervening knoll had hidden her from the eyes of 
her companions. 

There she stood, quite still, frozen with horror, 
and on a huge log in front of her, coiled within a yard 
of her breast, was a great rattlesnake, its malignant 
eyes fixed on her face, its warning rattle horribly 
distinct in the deathly hush that had followed her 
one faint scream. 

A moment more and the hound rose into the 
air, just cleared the girPs shoulder, and landed on 
the log, almost on top of the serpent, which struck 
at him viciously. But Trump’s teeth were already 
fastened in the snake’s neck, and he was shaking 
the rattling, writhing thing furiously. 

It was all over in a moment. The snake lay 
mangled and bloody, still twitching, but quite dead, 
upon the ground. Robin was sobbing in Don’s 
arms, while Forrest, in his usual quiet, steady voice, 
although his face was white and his hands shaking, 
was trying to calm and reassure her. Maggie and 
Jerry were hugging Trump and calling him by more 
flattering and endearing terms than, it is safe to say, 
he had ever heard in his life. 

‘^Be careful, there, children,” Forrest warned 
them sharply. ^‘He may have been bitten and have 
some of the venom about him. You can’t be over- 
cautious.” 

However, a thorough examination revealed no 


TRUMP JUSTIFIES FIIS NAME 207 


wound on the brave dog. Evidently he had been 
too quick for his enemy’s fatal fangs. 

Before resuming their homeward journey, every 
one but Robin took an interested, if shuddering, 
look at the dead rattler. It was an immense speci- 
men, with the thick, diamond-marked body and 
ugly, triangular head of its species. Part of its 
rattles had been broken off in some previous battle 
or accident, but from the appearance of those it still 
wore, and from its size, Mr. Forrest declared that 
it must be counted only second to the famous snake 
said to have been killed thirty years before on the 
present site of Twenty Rattles, and which had given 
the mine its name. 

After her nerve-shattering experience, Robin was 
glad enough to get home again and to cuddle down 
in the big rocking-chair before a fine fire of pitch- 
pine chips and cedar boughs, while Don sat on the 
arm of her chair and warmed her cold hands in his, 
and Maggie and Jerry prepared an impromptu 
supper. 

Mr. Forrest and Tmmp had said good night at 
the bridge, and gone on up to the mine. 

Late that evening the young engineer of Twenty 
Rattles threw aside impatiently the shabby little 
book, bound in Russia leather, to which he had con- 
fided his secrets so long, but which had become 
strangely inadequate of late. 

“Come here. Trump!” he said. 

Trump came, put his forepaws on Forrest’s knees, 


208 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


and looked into his face with sad, loving, unfathom- 
able eyes. 

Trump — old fellow!” — the young man laid 
his cheek against the dog’s head; wish I could 
thank you. But you wouldn’t understand, dog! 
You couldn’t know what it would have meant, if 
you hadn’t ” 

He stopped short with a shudder of recollection, 
and Trump licked his hands and face to show that 
a dog could love, though it could not understand. 


CHAPTER XX 


AUTUMN DAYS AND EVENINGS 

The weeks following Robin’s home-coming were 
very busy ones, for many things had to be done in 
preparation for the coming winter. Don’s and 
Jerry’s out-of-door duties kept them busy from 
morning till night. The open acres beyond the 
spring brook were planted to fruit trees, berry and 
currant bushes, and enclosed within a strong fence 
of rails and barbed wire. Already a thrifty row of 
strawberry plants was flourishing along one side of 
the vegetable garden. A good supply of winter 
vegetables was harvested and stowed away in bins 
in the large, dry cellar of the Robin’s Nest — potatoes, 
turnips, beets, cabbages and Hubbard squashes. 

Robin’s fruit cupboard was the pride of her heart. 
Jerry and Maggie had roamed the mountains and 
come home laden with heaping baskets of wild 
blackberries and gooseberries, which Robin had 
made into delicious jams and jellies and preserves. 
All the tomatoes and cucumbers from their garden, 
more than they could eat or sell, she had respec- 
tively canned or pickled. Occasionally, Jerry would 
bring home from Angel Flat a basket of peaches, 
apples, nectarines or prunes, and Robin always 

209 


210 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


managed to save enough from her ravenous house- 
hold to fill a jar or two or a half-dozen jelly glasses 
toward her winter store. All summer, even while 
she was at Twenty Rattles, this providing for the 
winter had been occupying spare minutes of her 
time. 

On one fine October day, Jerry and Maggie went 
nutting, and brought home a sack full of hazel and 
pine nuts, which were spread on the attic floor to 
dry and sweeten. And a week later, on Robin’s 
birthday, as it pleasantly happened, came a delight- 
ful surprise in the shape of a barrel of beautiful 
winter apples from the old home orchard in Sum- 
merville, sent by unforgetting and unforgotten friends 
in that dear, far-away village of their birth. 

Oliver Twist, who had grown into a fine fat pig, 
had long since been pronounced a superfluous mem- 
ber of the community, and now poor Jerry had to 
consent to his being traded to the Angel Flat butcher 
for a good supply of lard, ham, bacon and corned 
beef. Oliver departed in the butcher’s wagon, 
grunting cheerfully, with the bedraggled remnants of 
a red ribbon bow still adorning his collar, while 
Jerry tried to console himself with the affable 
butcher’s assurance that the pig should enjoy another 
year of existence, in a comfortable pen, before he 
met the inevitable fate of his kind. 

One thing more than any other troubled Don and 
Robin now. It was almost time for the herders 
from ‘‘below” to come up for their cattle, and, of 


AUTUMN DAYS AND EVENINGS 211 


course, Windfall, with her now fully recovered calf, 
must be set free. How they should miss her in- 
valuable contributions to their table! Robin grew 
more parsimonious every day with her cream, saving 
every spoonful she could to make butter. Don 
tried to plan some economy by which they could 
afford to buy a cow when Windfall had gone, but he 
came to the regretful conclusion that it wouldn’t 
do. Their little fund was considerably depleted by 
the necessary expenditures for supplies, and for the 
trees and vines they had set out. And it seemed to 
Don quite important to keep a little reserve fund, 
not to be touched except in case of sickness or 
emergency. 

^^So I’m afraid we’ll have to put up with con- 
densed milk this winter,” Don told his sister, 
^‘and we must make every pint go as far as possible. 
Maybe, if everything goes well through the winter, 
and Jerry and I succeed in getting something to do 
till spring at the mine, we can afford to get a cow 
then.” 

‘‘You’re right, of course, Don. You always 
are,” agreed Robin. But she sighed as she added: 
“And we’d better order a case of the evaporated 
cream at once, so as to be prepared when we have to 
let Windfall go.” 

Fortunately, however, Don delayed doing as she 
suggested. Fortunately, because, late one after- 
noon, about a week after this conversation, a 
stranger appeared at the door of the Robin’s Nest, 


212 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


and asked civilly if he might have some supper and 
a night’s lodging. Don replied that he could, if he 
didn’t mind bunking with either Jerry or himself. 
One of the boys could sleep in the hammock in the 
living-room. The stranger declared that anything 
would suit him — all he cared about was something 
to eat and a shelter for himself and his horse. He 
had come up to gather in his herd of cattle that had 
been ranging the mountains all summer. He had 
not yet overtaken them, and had concluded to stop 
over night at some ranch and push on farther next 
morning. 

Of course the story of Windfall and her calf was 
told him then, and the young people were much 
interested, if a little regretful, when he declared his 
willingness to eat his boot if they didn’t prove to be 
part of his bunch. Don, mindful of the fact that 
they knew nothing of the stranger’s reliability, 
though he looked honest and respectable enough, 
asked him to describe his cow and calf, and this the 
man did so accurately that no doubt was left as to 
the identity of his animals with the ones they had 
harbored all summer. 

Robin’s heart sank at the prospect of so soon giving 
up the cow. She had hoped it would be a few days 
longer before the regime of the despised “canned 
milk” began again. 

The visitor proved to be a pleasant, chatty fellow, 
not especially cultivated, but with shrewd, common 
sense, a dry humor of his own, and considerable 


AUTUMN DAYS AND EVENINGS 213 


experience in certain interesting phases of western 
life. A guest was something so unusual at the 
Robin’s Nest as to seem quite an event, and the 
entire party sat up late that evening, visiting by 
the fire. 

The next morning, after a good breakfast, the 
stranger saddled his horse and said good-by to his 
entertainers. As he expected to return to Miners- 
ville by another road, he had decided to take the cow 
and calf with him, and Windfall was tugging at the 
end of a rope tied to the saddle-pommel, while 
the calf wandered about, keeping an eye on his 
mother, and evidently wondering what was going to 
happen. 

^‘Well, how much do I owe you for my board and 
lodgin’?” asked Windfall’s owner, before gathering 
up his reins; but Don shook his head decidedly. 

guess your little Jersey has paid your debt a 
good many times over. We’re only glad you happened 
along so that we could thank you, and apologize if 
we’ve been too high-handed in taking possession 
of her.” 

^^I’m the one to do the thankin’, I reckon,” replied 
the other, with his hand on his horse’s mane. 

She’s in fust-rate shape, and her calf, too, as would 
have been clean loss to me if you hadn’t saved its 
life. I’ve been thinkin’ mebby I ought to make you 
some recompense fer doctorin’ him up.” 

^'We were glad to do it,” Robin protested, and 
Don added: — 


214 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


'^All we ask is that if by next spring you want to 
sell Windfall you give us the first chance to buy 
her.” 

^‘Why, I’ll sell her now, if you want to buy her,” 
said Windfall’s owner, and he named a price. 

But Don shook his head regretfully. Sorry, but 
we haven’t got that much money to spare just now. 
Next spring, maybe.” 

‘^Tell you what,” said the stranger, suddenly, ‘‘if 
you want the cow, I’d a heap rather sell her now 
than to wait six or eight months. You saved the 
calf for me, and he’s worth a good twenty dollars. 
I could get that for him any day in town. So if you 
want his ma, I’m willin’ to let her go for the price I 
stated, less the twenty dollars you saved me. It’s a 
bargain for you, but I reckon, under the circum- 
stances, that it’s square all round.” 

This offer was too liberal to be refused, and more- 
over, the reduction of twenty dollars from the price 
of the cow brought her safely within their reach. 
Rejoicing in this unexpected turn of affairs, Don 
concluded the bargain at once, and wrote a check 
on the Minersville bank for the price of Windfall. 
Master Calf, plump and frisky and rebelliously 
bleating, was led away by the rope which had been 
transferred from his mother’s neck to his own, while 
the whole Robin’s Nest household turned out to 
comfort Windfall with salt and carrots for her loss, 
and to assure her of their joy that she was to become 
a permanent member of the establishment. 



‘“WHY, MR. jukes!’ cried ROBIN, 'IS IT YOU?’” 



AUTUMN DAYS AND EVENINGS 215 


One important task was the providing of fire- 
wood enough to last all winter, but this Don had had 
in mind for a long time. Every spare moment for 
months he and Jerry had devoted to felling trees, 
sawing and splitting wood, and already a goodly 
number of cords was growing dry and seasoned and 
being piled away in the little lean-to woodshed they 
had built back of the house. A week or two of 
steady work now, and they would be well provided 
with fuel against the cold and stormy weather. 

One other pleasant task that had been occupying 
odd minutes of Robin’s time during the late summer 
and fall we must not fail to record. Devoted as she 
was to flowers, it had occurred to her that possibly 
there was not only pleasure, but profit to be derived 
from the lovely wild blossoms with which she had 
become familiar during her months in the Sierras. 
She had watched and waited patiently as one after 
another of her favorites stopped blooming and went 
to seed, and, as soon as the process of ripening was 
complete, she had gathered the seeds, packing them 
away in carefully labeled little envelopes. When 
spring returned, she intended to have a wild flower 
garden where she could study their habits, find out 
which were annuals and which would not blossom 
until a second or third year; how much water and 
what kind of soil each variety required, and which, 
if any, blossomed most successfully under cultiva- 
tion. With this information, and with as large a 
supply of seeds and bulbs as she could gather from 


216 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


her own garden and from the great wild garden of 
the hills, she believed she could start a profitable 
little business. An old florist she knew in Sum- 
merville would be glad, she was sure, to experiment 
with some of these beautiful and unknown blossoms, 
and to call the attention of his patrons to them. 
Perhaps the project might ultimately be successful 
enough to bear enlarging. Letters could be written 
to other florists and seed growers in the East, and 
even a tiny catalogue containing lists and descrip- 
tions and prices, might not be impracticable. 

This plan was only one of many that were fer- 
menting in Robin’s active brain. Another that she 
hoped to carry out was the raising of chickens, with 
the brood Larry had given her as a nucleus for the 
flock of a hundred or more which she felt quite cap- 
able of looking after. Don promised that he would 
fence in a poultry yard in the spring, and try his 
hand at building a chicken-house, and already his 
sister was happily counting her unhatched chicks. 

The first rain fell in the early part of October, and 
wonderfully refreshing it seemed after the long 
weeks of sunshine. The night that the storm be- 
gan, Don and Jerry lay awake a long time listening 
to the marching of regiments of rain-drops over the 
low roof, and to the soft gurgle of the water that ran 
from the eaves-trough down into their cistern. 

'Ht sounds fine now, but I’ll bet we’ll be sick 
enough of it before the winter is over,” commented 
Jerry. 


AUTUMN DAYS AND EVENINGS 217 


'^Dare say we shall,” replied Don, sleepily; '^but 
I’m not going to worry about that yet awhile. Any- 
way, they all say it’s pleasant the biggest part of the 
time till February. There are only a few months 
when it’s really very stormy. Did you think to 
bring in your saw to-night, Jerry?” 

But Jerry, lulled by the music of the rain, was 
sound asleep and snoring gently. 

Now that the summer tasks and pleasures were 
over, indoor employments came to seem of some 
importance once more. Not that the weather was 
such as to keep them indoors much of the time — 
far from it. Most of the days were like perfect 
autumn days in the East, with their blue sky and 
sunshine and crisp, bracing air; or else with the 
soft, smoky, dreamy beauty of the New England 
Indian summer. Many a glorious tramp was taken 
over the mountain-sides, where the early frosts had 
been at work, picking out the deciduous trees 
here and there among the evergreens and bidding 
them stand forth in golden contrast with the change- 
less green of fir and cedar, pine and spruce. Little 
clumps of poison oak glowed like tiny bonfires on the 
long slopes. 

The trout were biting famously, and Jerry set 
himself the pleasant task of keeping the family 
larder supplied with fish. Sometimes Don would 
take old Jonathan Sturtevandt’s rifle or his own 
shotgun and go out for half a day’s hunting, com- 
ing home with quail or grouse or squirrels enough 


218 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


for several meals. Neither of the boys cared much 
about killing wild creatures, but now that the butcher 
had given up his weekly visit, and came only at 
intervals of two or three weeks past the mine and the 
Robin’s Nest, an occasional bag of game was a great 
help to Robin in satisfying the excellent appetites of 
her family. Don cherished an ungratified longing 
to kill a deer, but as yet he had not so much as seen 
a track. Mr. Forrest had assured him that there 
would be plenty of game later on, when the upper 
ranges were covered deep with snow. Even an 
occasional black bear or mountain lion might be 
looked for then, although several seasons had elapsed 
since either had been seen in the vicinity of Twenty 
Rattles and Angel Flat. 

But, as has been said, indoor pursuits were now 
the more important. Robin’s nimble fingers were 
hard at work getting her family sewed up” for the 
winter. The pile of miscellaneous mending that 
had accumulated during her long absence and the 
first busy weeks after her return, was steadily de- 
creased in size, day by day. A good sewing machine 
was rented for a week from Angel Flat, and for six 
long days and evenings its musical humming scarcely 
ceased. Maggie did the cooking and Jerry helped 
her with the housework, while Robin devoted her 
whole attention to her sewing. Maggie’s scanty 
wardrobe was put into neater order than it had ever 
known before, and increased by the addition of one 
or two new frocks, cut over from old ones of Robin’s. 


AUTUMN DAYS AND EVENINGS 219 


Very few new things were bought for any of the 
family, but, with a great deal of judicious mending, 
turning and making over, the whole household was 
made very respectable and comfortable, if neither 
fashionable nor elegant. 

Many little postponed improvements were made 
in the interior of the house. Sash curtains were 
provided for the living-room windows, sofa pil- 
lows were freshened by new covers, and the ham- 
mock, which had swung all summer on the porch, 
was brought in again and hung in its corner. On 
the floor a beautiful scarlet and black Navajo blanket 
added a glowing touch of warmth and cosiness to the 
room. This was a loan from John Forrest, who 
had brought it over one day and begged them to 
make use of it, arguing that he had no place for it 
in his own narrow quarters, and would see it oftener 
and enjoy it more at the Robin’s Nest than he did 
while it was packed away in moth balls at the 
bottom of his trunk. 

The boys’ den was rendered more attractive by a 
dozen little touches of feminine ingenuity, and a little 
drum stove was set up to keep it cosily warm. 

One thing there was that Robin now insisted 
upon, and her brothers yielded to her wishes, Don 
gracefully, but Jerry with more or less grumbling. 
A stack of long-neglected school books was to be 
taken down from its shelf, regular study hours 
instituted, and the boys’ education resumed in earn- 
est after the long vacation from lessons. 


220 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Robin’s own college career had been cut short by 
their father’s illness and death, but she still had 
enough years’ advantage in schooling over her 
brothers to be of great help to them in their studies. 
She and Don tackled Virgil together now, and while 
he struggled with constructions and meters, his sis- 
ter, to whom it was all familiar and easy, amused 
herself by translating the beautiful Latin poetry 
into English verse. 

French and German the whole family studied 
together by the conversational method, getting con- 
siderable fun as well as profit out of their halting 
interchange of trite and uninteresting remarks. 
Jerry always held the dictionary at such times to 
look up doubtful or disputed words, while Don and 
his open grammar were looked to when a difficult 
question of construction arose. 

The classes in literature and history were the 
most interesting of alt, and this is how they were 
conducted. After supper, the young people would 
gather around the lamp in the living-room, and one 
of them, oftenest Don, would read aloud from some 
classic of literature or some standard work of his- 
tory, while Robin sewed, Maggie knitted briskly 
in the funny German fashion her grandfather had 
taught her, and Jerry looked to the mending of the 
fire and keeping the hearth clear of falling ashes. 
Any one was allowed to interrupt the reader on these 
occasions with questions or comments not irrelevant 
to the subject under consideration, and often it 


‘ GOLD ! 


GOLD ! 


GOLD ! ’ HE BKEATHED EXULTANTLY IN 
HER EAR.” 






* 

4 



1 




•i 


* • 

. . . t. . 


k f 


i 


1 


I 


4 


AUTUMN DAYS AND EVENINGS 221 


happened that the book was laid aside altogether in 
favor of some eager debate or lively discussion. 

Of the books their father had left, only a few had 
been brought with the Arnolds to California, but 
that few Robin had chosen carefully, knowing, as 
she did, that their new home would lie far away 
from book shops and libraries. 

Maggie’s schooling had been, as may be imagined, 
sadly neglected. The school of the district was 
located several miles from the Sturtevandt ranch; 
her grandfather had never insisted on her attending 
it, and as for herself, she had always preferred roam- 
ing the mountains, like a little wild creature, to 
staying indoors and studying stupid books. Now, 
however, her active brain found in them a new and 
lively interest. She learned eagerly and quickly 
all that Don and Robin could find time to teach her, 
and it was not long before Jerry discovered that he 
must be getting to work in earnest or his playmate 
would be outstripping him in many of the branches 
both were studying. The friendly rivalry between 
him and Maggie had an excellent effect on the 
scholarship of both children, and Robin took pains 
to encourage it. 

Often, as the evenings grew longer and frostier, 
John Forrest and Trump would stroll over to spend 
an hour or two by the Robin’s Nest fireside. It was 
on one of these occasions that the engineer suggested 
modestly that he would be delighted to accept a 
position on the faculty of the Robin’s Nest Univer- 


222 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


sity, were such a position tendered him — which it 
was, promptly. After that, he used to come regu- 
larly, twice a week, with a book or two under his arm, 
prepared to listen to a recitation in mathematics or 
deliver a lecture on geology or mineralogy. Although 
the girls were interested in these subjects, it was 
Don and Jerry who took them up with the greatest 
enthusiasm. Jerry developed an especial passion 
for geology, and the mantel shelf fairly sagged under 
the weight of his rapidly accumulating specimens. 

‘‘Next year we’ll build a museum and labora- 
tory,” Don declared ambitiously. “Then we can 
put in the whole winter studying all these things in 
earnest. I’d like to try my hand at chemistry and 
assaying, wouldn’t you, Jerry?” 

“Yes, but I’d take the outdoor part of it if I had 
to choose. I can’t decide whether I’ll be a civil 
engineer and build railroads or a prospector and 
locate gold mines.” 

“And mica ledges?” suggested Mr. Forrest, to 
Jerry’s confusion. 

Thus, very pleasantly, though uneventfully, the 
autumn passed. Jerry continued to go thrice weekly 
to Angel Flat for the Twenty Rattles’ mail. Maggie 
and Robin kept busy and happy about the house. 
Don, while waiting for the position that Mr. Abbott 
hoped to have for him at the mine a little later, 
devoted himself to his studies, to the increasing of 
his wood pile, and to some necessary bits of carpen- 
tering and tinkering about the house. 


AUTUMN DAYS AND EVENINGS 223 


It was drawing very near to a season dear to all 
New England’s children — in other words, it lacked 
but a fortnight of Thanksgiving Day, when the 
monotony of life at the Robin’s Nest was broken in 
upon by a happening so exciting as to deserve a 
chapter to itself. 


CHAPTER XXI 


LARRY ENTERS THE ROBIN^S NEST 

Don and Jerry were away from home, having left 
early in the morning for an all-day hunt. Maggie 
was perched like a little brown bird in a crotch of a 
great spreading oak, not far from the Robin^s Nest, 
lost to the world; for she had found a ragged old 
copy of Eight Cousins” among Robin’s books, and 
was reading it for the first time. 

Robin was herefore alone in the house, and was 
taking advantage of the unusual quiet and leisure 
to answer some long-neglected letters. The day was 
warm and sunny, so that the fires had been allowed 
to go out, and the doors stood hospitably open. It 
was getting well toward sunset, and Robin was just 
addressing and sealing her last letter, when she was 
startled by a hoarse, distressed ‘‘Mee — ow!” at 
her side. Looking down, she discovered Tom 
Quartz sitting by her chair. 

“Why, Tommy, old fellow! Where did you 
come from?” she asked in surprise; for neither Tom 
nor his master had been at the Robin’s Nest for 
many months, and Robin had regretfully given up 
all hope that the mysterious breach between them 
and their old neighbor would ever be healed. 

224 


LARRY AND THE ROBIN’S NEST 225 


‘‘Mee — ow!” wheezed Tom Quartz, staring at 
her fixedly with his yellow eyes. 

Robin patted her knee invitingly, but he would 
not jump to it, and when she leaned over to pick 
him up he eluded her hand and started slowly toward 
the open door, mewing mournfully. 

“If it were Trump I should know he wanted me 
to go with him,” she said to herself; “but of course 
a cat wouldn’t have so much intelligence as that!” 

‘ ‘ Mee — ow 1 Meeee — ooow ! ’ ’ howled T om, at 
the door, and Robin, smiling at her own absurdity, 
jumped up and followed him. 

That Tom had come to the Robin’s Nest with 
any deliberate intention of finding her, or was leav- 
ing it with the idea of inducing her to follow him, is, 
perhaps, improbable. As events proved, however, 
the chance visit was a most timely one. For Tom, 
stopping now and then to sniff at something ,in the 
grass or to watch with cruelly dilating eyes some 
darting little lizard, led the way, by slow stages, back 
from the Robin’s Nest and up along the spring brook 
to the edge of the woods. He e he paused, looked 
back at her, mewed, and went on into the underbrush. 

“Of course it’s a wild goose chase, but I do mean 
to see where you’re bound for, you silly old pussy!” 
said the girl, gathering up her skirts for a scramble. 
But before she had gone more than a few yards 
farther, with Tom’s black and white body gliding 
noiselessly ahead through the bushes, she stopped 
suddenly, for a sound had reached her cars. It 


226 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


came from out the dense thicket above her, some 
distance up the mountain, and it sounded like the 
groan of a man in pain. Though her heart thumped 
rather uncourageously, she pressed on through birch 
and manzanita, not knowing whom or what she 
might find. Presently there was a crackling in the 
brush before her, and then another groan. It sounded 
as if some one were painfully trying to drag himself 
along the ground. 

“Wait a minute — I’m coming!” she called 
cheeringly, tearing her skirt free from a detaining 
brier. 

“I don’t want nobody. Go back!” was the start- 
lingly savage reply that reached her, and in a familiar 
voice. 

“Why, Mr. Jukes!” cried Robin, in astonishment, 
“is it you?” 

She had reached him in another minute. Larry 
was lying on his face, one hand outstretched as if to 
grasp a near-by sapling with which to drag himself 
farther; but he had given up all effort on Robin’s 
approach. 

“What is the matter? What has happened?” 
cried the girl, bending over the old man with concern. 

“Nothin’ — ’tain’t nothin’ serious! Guess I’ve 
sprained my all-fired ankle — that’s all. Just y’u 
go back an’ say nothin’ to nobody! I’ll make out to 
crawl home some way.” 

“Mr. Jukes, do you think I’m a barbarian?” she 
demanded, as much disgusted as she was puzzled. 


LARRY AND THE ROBIN’S NEST 227 


‘‘You mustn’t move another inch — not another 
inch, mind! Lie still till I can run and get help!” 

Larry raised his head and looked at her like a 
hunted creature. 

“Who y’u goin’ to get?” he questioned fiercely. 

“There isn’t any one but Maggie. The boys are 
away, but I think we can get you down to the house. 
Now mind you lie still ! ” And Robin was off, scram- 
bling down the mountain-side as fast as she could go. 

In less than half an hour she and Maggie were 
back, with Stubby hitched to the little stone-boat 
Don had contrived for hauling wood. Blankets 
and pillows had been thrown hastily into this rude 
equipage. By breaking branches and bending sap- 
lings, Maggie and Robin succeeded in making a way 
for Stubby nearly to the place where Larry lay. 
Then they went to the old man and with the greatest 
difficulty managed half to support, half drag him 
to the stone-boat, where he sank on the blankets, 
his tanned face gray and drawn with pain. Slowly 
and carefully as possible the unique ambulance was 
then guided down the mountain till it stopped at 
the door of the Robin’s Nest. 

“Can’t y’u take me home?” begged Larry, faintly, 
from the blankets. 

“No, Mr. Jukes, we can’t,” declared Robin, 
losing patience, in spite of her sympathy with the 
poor old man. “Stubby couldn’t drag you so far 
on this sled, and there wouldn’t be any one to take 
care of you when you got there. You’ll have to put 


228 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


up with entering Uncle Jonathan's house at last. 
There’s nothing else to be done.” 

Quite meekly, leaning upon a pair of old crutches 
that had been Johnnie Sturtevandt’s, he suffered 
himself to be helped up the steps and over the thres- 
hold he had never meant to cross. Tom Quartz 
followed at his master’s heels. 

“We’ll take him into our room, Maggie, so that 
he can lie down on the bed. Then you must saddle 
Stubby and ride up to the mine. Tell Mr. Abbott 
what has happened and ask him to come,” planned 
Robin. 

When their unwilling guest had been made as 
comfortable as possible and Maggie had departed 
for help, Robin went down to the bridge to watch 
for the boys, but a quarter of an hour passed and 
still there was no sign of them. The sun was behind 
the buttes now, and the chill of night was already in 
the air. Not wishing to- leave her patient alone any 
longer, Robin went back to the house. As she 
entered the door she heard talking in her little bed- 
room, and, thinking that the boys must have come 
home by way of the woods and so missed her, she 
hurried in. But there was no one there save Tom 
Quartz and the white-bearded man on the bed. 
Larry’s eyes were bright and wild. His face was 
so hot that it almost burned the cool hand that she 
laid upon it. He was talking incessantly, though 
most of what he said was so incoherent that she could 
not understand. 


LARRY AND THE ROBIN’S NEST 229 


Feeling terribly helpless and alone, Robin did 
her best to quiet the old man. She bathed his face 
and wrists, gave him cold water to drink, fanned 
him, and talked to him soothingly, as if he had been 
a child. After a while he grew quiet and seemed 
to fall asleep, breathing heavily. Then Robin stole 
away from his side to light the lamps and rekindle 
the fires. She knew her brothers would be as hungry 
as bears when they reached home, so she started 
her supper, listening all the time for steps on the 
porch or a sound from Larry. It was the latter that 
she heard first. Hurrying back into the bedroom, 
she found Larry sitting up and looking about him. 

‘‘Where am I?” he asked quietly. 

“At the Robin’s Nest, quite safe,” she replied, 
as quietly. “Lie down now and try to sleep. We’ll 
have some one here soon.” 

But Larry would not lie down. His eyes roamed 
restlessly about the room, finally fixing themselves 
on her face. 

“Where’s Johnnie Sturtevandt? I don’t see 
nothin’ of him.” 

“Hush — you must go to sleep!” said Robin, 
laying a hand on his shoulder, which yielded not 
an inch to the gentle pressure she exerted. Sud- 
denly she found her wrist caught and held as in a 
vise. 

“I’ve got to kill Johnnie Sturtevandt to-night. 
Tell me where he is!” 

Trembling inwardly, but outwardly serene, Robin 


230 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


answered, not even trying to draw away her 
hand : — 

Better wait till to-morrow, hadn’t you, Mr. 
Jukes? You’re not feeling very well to-night, 
you know.’^' Then, thinking to lead him away from 
the dangerous subject, she added : “ Suppose you tell 
me how you happened to hurt yourself. Did you 
fall? What were you doing up in the woods?” 

He looked at her in a strange, furtive way. 

“That’s nobody’s affair but mine, I reckon,” he 
replied. Then a thought seemed to strike him sud- 
denly, and the grip on her wrist tightened painfully. 
“What did y’u see?” he demanded anxiously. 

“Why, nothing at all,” she answered, reassur- 
ingly. “Nothing but you and Tom Quartz and 
the trees and bushes.” 

He looked relieved, but did not let her go. 

“Are you his wife?” was his next and unexpected 
query. 

Robin was uncertain who “he” might be, but felt 
quite sure of her ground in replying that she was 
not. 

“I’m Roberta Arnold. Don’t you remember 
me? And my brothers, Don and Jerry? You’re 
in our house. The boys will be here soon.” 

Still holding to her wrist, he sank back against 
the pillow wearily. “I don’t know no Arnolds. 
I thought mebby y’u was the woman Johnnie 
married. It’s been lonesome since Johnnie — left. 
Do — you — think — ” he roused himself a little. 


LARRY AND THE ROBIN’S NEST 231 


'^Do y’u think likely he’ll come back here soon, 
ma’am?” Without waiting for an answer, the old 
man rambled on, his eyes half shut, a smile on his 
face. ^H’ve got somethin’ great to tell Johnnie 
when he comes. Will he come soon, d’ y’u think? 
I’m gettin’ old, an’ it’s lonesome since he quit. An’ 
my leg — it — hurts. I think — ” He opened his 
eyes suddenly. “ Lean down, Johnnie,” he whispered 
hoarsely. “Lean down, an’ I’ll tell y’u!” 

Frightened by his wild looks, she tried to draw 
her hand away, but he pulled her down till his silvery 
beard brushed her cheek. 

^^Gold! Gold! GoldP’ he breathed exultantly in 
her ear. 

Then, with startling suddenness, his mood changed. 
Sitting up again, his white hair tumbled by the 
pillows, his blue eyes almost black with excitement 
and anger, he cried aloud, as he had done in his own 
shack, with none but Tom Quartz to hear, nearly 
half a year before: — 

“Curse him, I say! Curse John Sturtevandt ! ” 

Robin could stand no more. Mustering all her 
strength, she tore her aching wrist from the old man’s 
insane grasp and rushed away from him, out of the 
house, down the wagon track to the bridge. There 
she stopped to listen and to search the darkness. 
It seemed hours before a welcome, if unmusical, 
sound reached her waiting ears — the bray of delight 
with which Stubby always voiced his feelings when 
he was nearing home. Soon she saw a lantern 


232 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


approaching, and began to hear voices — Maggie’s 
and Mr. Abbott’s and that of Barney O’Hara, her 
old Knight of the Dinner-horn. 

^^Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come!” she almost sobbed 
as she flew to meet them. As they all went on up 
to the house, she told them of Larry’s delirious rav- 
ings and her own fright, but for some reason she 
could hardly have explained to herself, she made 
no reference to the strange things he had said in his 
delirium. In his irresponsible mental condition, 
she knew that the old prospector had hinted at 
matters whose secrecy he guarded jealously in his 
normal state, and it seemed hardly fair for her to 
repeat what she had been obliged to hear. Anyway, 
it threw but little light on the mystery that seemed 
destined to remain unsolved to the end of the chapter. 

Hardly had the house been reached when a cheer- 
ful but weary war-cry from behind announced that 
the boys, too, were coming, and Robin turned back 
to meet them and tell them what had happened. 
They listened breathlessly, Don reproaching himself 
for having been away when his sister was in such 
need of him. 

It wasn’t your fault, Don I ” she protested. “ You 
couldn’t know what was going to happen. But 
aren’t you very late? Windfall has been calling 
you to come and milk her this hour past.” 

“Wait till you see what we’ve got and you won’t 
ask why we’re late!” said Jerry, mysteriously. 

“Only we haven’t got it,” corrected Don. “It’s 


LARRY AND THE ROBIN^S NEST 233 


a good five miles from here, hanging in a tree where 
the coyotes can’t reach it, and to-morrow early we’re 
going to take Stubby and bring it home.” 

“T deer?^^ asked Robin, with proper enthusiasm. 
deerV'^ said Don. 

Poor thing!” mourned Robin. “Of course 

I’m glad you got it, but ” 

“That’s a good deal the way Jerry and I felt,” 
confessed Don, as the three went into the house 
together. 

The night that followed was a busy and an anxious 
one. For hours Larry’s terrible fever, which seemed 
strangely out of proportion to his injury, and to 
the amount of pain he was suffering, continued to 
rage. ^ ^ 

“I can’t understand his condition,” Mr. Abbott 
said to Robin, frowning perplexedly. “It’s as if 
his brain had given way under some severe strain. 
If he isn’t better by daylight, I shall telephone to 
Minersville for a doctor.” 

But toward morning the old man’s high tempera- 
ture yielded a little to constant cold water bathing; 
his periods of raving became less violent and farther 
apart, and at last ceased altogether, although his 
mind was still clouded, so that he did not seem to 
recognize any of the figures that came and went 
about his bed. Once, when Robin came to his side, 
he looked up at her with a sudden, sweet smile, and 
called her “Mary.” Robin’s eyes filled with tears 
as she realized that for the moment she was doubt- 


234 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


less embodying to the lonely old man some memory 
of his far-away youth. 

About two o’clock Larry fell asleep. Mr. Abbott 
went back to Twenty Rattles for the remainder of 
the night, promising to return immediately after 
breakfast; Barney stayed to watch with Larry till 
morning. Robin and Maggie climbed wearily up- 
stairs to the boys’ room for two or three hours’ rest, 
while Don and Jerry camped in the living-room, one 
in the hammock and one on the bearskin rug, where 
they slept uneasily till daybreak. 


CHAPTER XXII 


A MYSTERY EXPLAINED 

It was the evening before Thanksgiving Day. 
Larry was well enough now to sit up in the big chair 
before the fire, with his injured foot carefully propped 
up among cushions and rugs. The fever which 
had burned in his blood for several days after the 
accident, had left him pale and thin. He looked a 
dozen years older than he had done when the Ar- 
nolds first saw him, and in other ways as well he 
seemed much altered. All the old irascibility and 
uncertainty of temper had left him, and a gentle, 
settled sadness had come to be his habitual mood. 
He would lie on his bed or sit in his chair for hours, 
hardly saying a word, but following with his eyes 
Robin^s brisk movements as she went about her 
household duties. 

The care of the old man had, of course, been a 
good deal of a burden, and it had necessitated Don’s 
and Jerry’s giving up their room temporarily to their 
sister and cousin. Mr. Abbott had had a cot brought 
down from the mine, however, and with that and 
the hammock, the boys’ nights were passed not 
uncomfortably. All the young people had done 
their best to make their patient feel that he was 

235 


236 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


welcome. Even Jerry had resolved to let bygones 
be bygones, and had been as kind and cordial to 
Larry as if nothing had ever happened between 
them. 

A protracted storm had kept everybody indoors 
for several days, and on the evening of our present 
chapter the rain still pattered steadily on roof and 
window-pane, making the warm, lamp-lighted cosi- 
ness of the sitting-room pleasanter than ever by 
force of contrast. Robin’s fingers were busy, as 
usual, with some bit of needle work. Don and 
Jerry were sitting on the floor, as close as possible 
to the glowing hearth, busily engaged in renewing 
their stock of bullets. Maggie occupied a low stool 
near them, looking on with interest as Don poured 
the silvery liquid lead from his ladle into the mold 
which Jerry held. Tom Quartz lay on his master’s 
lap, purring contentedly. Tom had taken the 
changed conditions of his life very philosophically, 
and except for an occasional excursion to the deserted 
cabin where he and Larry had lived so long, he had 
stayed close about the Robin’s Nest. 

Everything seemed so peaceful, serene, and usual 
on this Thanksgiving eve, that it was as startling as 
a clap of thunder would have been to hear Larry 
Jukes cry suddenly, in choked, unnatural tones : — 

‘H’ve got to do it! I’ve got to do it! I can’t go 
on this here way no longer! I’m goin’ to tell y’u 
everythin’ an’ then y’u can turn me outdoors if y’u 
want. I’ll not blame y’u.” 


A MYSTERY EXPLAINED 237 


They stared at him in amazement, Robin with 
her needle in the air; Don with the lead cooling in 
his uplifted ladle. 

“Why, Mr. Jukes,” said Robin, soothingly, won- 
dering if the fever had returned and Larry were 
raving again, “you can tell us anything you want to, 
of course; but don’t talk of such a silly thing as our 
turning you out of doors!” 

“I should say not!” agreed Don. 

“Wait till I tell y’u!” said Larry, holding up his 
hand for attention. They waited, but for many 
minutes Larry said no word. He was staring mood- 
ily into the fire, trying, perhaps, to find the words 
he needed to make the revelation he had decided to 
make. At last he turned to Jerry. 

“It’s a bad night, lad, but I’ve somethin’ for y’u 
to do. Will y’u go through the dark to my shack 
an’ bring me somethin’ what’s there?” 

Robin opened her mouth to protest, but Jerry was 
already on his feet and had started for his cap and 
rubber boots and lantern. What weighed a tramp 
and a drenching in the balance with the solution of 
the great mystery? 

“There’s a loose stone in the hearth to my fire- 
place,” Larry directed. “It’s near the outside edge, 
at the end nearest the bunk. Underneath it is a 
box, an’ it’s inside that that y’u’ll find what I want 
y’u to bring.” 

“Yes, sir! I’ll be back in half an hour,” declared 
Jerry, as the door slammed between him and the 


238 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


group he was leaving. They could hear the splash 
of his feet in the flooded wagon track as he ran 
down toward the bridge. 

After his departure, neither Larry nor the others 
spoke. All were waiting, Larry grimly, the others 
with suppressed excitement. Robin laid aside her 
sewing and went to the window to watch for her 
brother’s returning lantern. Tom Quartz, ignorant 
of the dramatic turn affairs had taken, purred him- 
self fast asleep on his master’s knee. Maggie had 
taken Jerry’s place by the hearth, and was holding 
the mold while Don finished his run of bullets. 

True to his word, Jerry was back in half an hour. 
That he had run much of the way was evident 
enough as he burst into the room, panting for breath, 
with mud splashed to his shoulders, his dark eyes 
blazing with excitement and his wet hair plastered 
in disorder to his forehead. 

‘‘Here ’tis!” he cried breathlessly, tossing a 
little canvas sack of something heavier than salt 
or meal on the table by Larry’s side. “Now we’re 
ready for the story, Mr. Jukes.” He threw aside 
his wet coat and cap, and sat down on the bearskin 
by the fire, looking up eagerly into the old man’s 
face. 

“It’s got to do with y’ur uncle, Jonathan Stur- 
tevandt,” said Larry, after a little. He had turned 
to Robin, and it was apparently more to her than to 
the others that he spoke as he told the story that 
follows. 


A MYSTERY EXPLAINED 239 


“We’d guessed that much!” said Jerry, but Larry 
did not heed the interruption. 

“It’s more’n forty years ago I first saw Johnnie 
Sturtevandt,” Larry went on. “It’s nearer fifty, I 
reckon. Things was wild enough up in these 
mountains then. I’d been round this here region 
quite a spell when Johnnie showed up. He was 
a good-lookin’ young feller — snappin’ black eyes 
an’ a heavy black beard. ’Cept for the beard he 
looked like Jerry here does. I noticed the likeness 
the day I brung y’u up. Johnnie hadn’t no friends, 
an’ as he had just come from back East, he didn’t 
know any too much, but some way I took a notion to 
him right off. We wasn’t far from an age. He 
hadn’t no pardner, an’ mine had got himself shot a 
while before, so he an’ I agreed we’d go in together. 
We stayed by each other for somethin’ like ten years, 
an’ all that time there wa’n’t never a mean thought 
nor a hard word between me an’ Johnnie. We 
warmed by the same fire, an’ slep’ in the same blan- 
kets, day after day an’ night after night, an’ when 
either one of us made a strike, the other always got 
his half o’ the dirt, or o’ the bacon an’ beans it 
bought. One year there was a ’Frisco man grub- 
staked us an’ sent us way back into the range, where 
nobody ever went those days. We packed our 
stuff on a couple o’ burros, an’ for months an’ 
months we never saw a man’s face, except each 
other’s. An’ we wa’n’t lonesome, neither. Some- 
times we’d sing songs an’ tell stories half a night by 


240 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


our camp-fire, an’ sometimes we’d set around an’ 
say nary a word but yes or no. But either way we 
wa’n’t never lonesome. It’s that way when men are 
friends. 

‘'Wall, it was after we’d drifted into this here 
districk — ’twas a big placer camp then, where 
Twenty Rattles is now — that Johnnie quit me. 
He’d went to ’Frisco with some dust we’d been col- 
lectin’ for a good many weeks, an’ he didn’t come 
back. I got a package an’ letter from him — my 
share o’ the money our dust had brought an’ the 
news that he’d found a woman he liked an’ he was 
goin’ to get married an’ stay in ’Frisco. 

“After that I never had no pardner — not till I 
got Tom Quartz here. I felt lonesome about startin’ 
off to any new camp by myself, so I sort o’ squatted 
here, an’ here I’ve been ever since. When Twenty 
Rattles opened up I got a job o’ prospectin’ an’ 
samplin’ ore dumps for them, an’ I’ve worked there, 
off an’ on, at one thing or another, ever since. 

“I hain’t been very ambitious, I suppose; but I 
haven’t had no one to work for — that makes a dif- 
ference. It sort o’ took the life out o’ me when my 
pardner quit.” 

“But you couldn’t blame Uncle Jonathan for 
wanting to marry and have a home of his own,” pro- 
tested Don. “I should think you’d have wanted to 
do the same.” 

The old man shook his head, and a shade of deep 
sadness passed over the sternly set face. 


A MYSTERY EXPLAINED 241 


done with that sort o’ thing long before I ever 
set eyes on your uncle. There’s a grave, ’way down 
in the old San Joaquin valley, where the only woman 
I ever wanted went to dust more’n half a century 
ago. I think about her sometimes, when I’m singin’ 
that there song I sang for y’u when we was cornin’ 
up from Minersville: — 

“‘We are wreck an’ stray, 

We are cast away, 

Poor battered old hulks an^ spars; 

But we hope an’ pray 
On the judgment day 
We shall strike it up in the stars.’ 

‘‘But Mary ain’t got nothin’ to do with the story 
I’m tellin’ y’u; save only that as I get older, I think 
more about it — that mebby what Preacher Pearce 
comes up to tell us mountain folks has got some 
truth in it, an’ mebby I’ll see her again some day. 
An’ I know — I’ve knowed for quite a spell, that I 
could never look her in the face if I was to die with- 
out tryin’ to make up for what I’ve done to y’u.” 

“But what is it you’ve done to us? We don’t 
understand. Please explain!” begged Robin. 

And Larry went on with his story. 

“Some nine or ten years ago — I was livin’ then 
where I do now, an’ workin’ at Twenty Rattles 
when I saw fit — I went out one day with my gun 
to see if I couldn’t kill a grouse for my dinner. I 
dumb part way up the mountain, back of my cabin, 


242 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


an’ then I wandered down in this direction till I 
was just about even with where your garden is, an’ 
’bout quarter of a mile above it. Y’u know it’s 
pretty much all brush an’ briers up there, an’ there’s 
a little waterfall where the spring brook takes a 
jump over the rocks. The man who’d taken out 
the place as a homestead claim hadn’t been up here 
for years. He’d proved it up, so we understood, an’ 
then sold it, an’ some way or other it had come into 
the hands of a doctor back East somewheres. The 
house stood empty, an’ there didn’t nobody live any 
nearer it than Twenty Rattles, except me. 

‘‘Wall, I was pokin’ around, lookin’ for game, 
when I come to that there brook o’ yours, about 
fifty feet below the falls, an’ at a place where it 
widens out into a little pool with sandy edges an’ 
lots o’ stones an’ gravel. Mebby y’u know the 
place, but likelier y’u don’t, for it’s awful rough to 
get to, an’ y’u’d never guess there was anythin’ wuth 
while when y’u did get there. I never thought o’ 
findin’ anythin’, but just because prospectin’ is 
second nature to me, I dropped down on my knees 
in that gravel an’ went nosin’ around for a prospect. 
An’ I found one! Why, that there gravel was just 
chock-full o’ fine grains o’ gold. I could see ’em 
without pannin’. I forgot all about grouse, an’ my 
gun lay just where I’d dropped it, while I put for 
home with my pockets full o’ the stuff. When I’d 
got to my cabin I bolted my door an’ went to work, 
an’ if I didn’t take ten dollars worth o’ gold out o’ 


A MYSTERY EXPLAINED 243 


the little mess o’ sand an’ gravel I’d packed home, 
I’ll eat Tom Quartz! 

‘‘Then I was crazy! I asked for a two weeks’ lay- 
off from work, an’ I sneaked over here every day 
through the woods, with my pan an’ a bottle to carry 
home the clean-up in. O’ course I didn’t say 
nothin’ to nobody. There was only one person in 
the world that I wanted to tell, an’ that was Johnnie 
Sturtevandt, my old pal; but I’d lost all track o’ 
him — hadn’t heard o’ him for years an’ years. So 
I just went on workin’ my prospect on the sly, an’ 
keepin’ the gold I got in a safe hidin’ place under my 
hearth. After the two weeks was up, I went back 
to the mine to work, an’ just put in odd spells an’ 
Sundays at the brook.” 

“Why didn’t you stake out a claim and work 
openly?” asked Jerry. 

“Because I’d no business to be workin’ there at 
all. I was prospectin’ ground that belonged to 
another man — to y’ur father, as I know now. Of 
course it was stealin’. I never pertended it was 
anythin’ else. But I’d lived here in these hills an’ 
worked over ’em so many years that I s’pose I 
couldn’t just realize that it wa’n’t all free ground, 
like it had been in the good old days. I’m not tryin’ 
to justify myself, y’u understand?” He had turned 
to Jerry to answer the boy’s question, but now he 
fixed his troubled eyes again on Robin’s face. 

“Yes, we understand!” said the girl, very gently. 
“Please go on, Mr. Jukes.” 


244 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Larry hesitated a minute. ‘‘The rest ain’t so 
easy to tell. I’m likely to fergit myself when I recall 
some things that’s passed; but I’ll try to be — to be 
fair an’ to give y’u the story straight. 

“When I heard that Johnnie Sturtevandt had 
come back an’ was livin’ with a little orphant gran’- 
child over here to this place, I began to think life was 
a pretty good thing after all. I quit right in the 
middle of a job I was on at Twenty Rattles, an’ 
come down here fast as I could foot it to see my old 
pal. I had so much to say an’ so much to ask him 
that I tried all the way over to think what I’d say or 
ask first; but when I got here, an’ had holt o’ his 
hand, I couldn’t do nothin’ but shake it an’ shake 
it, an’ cry like I hadn’t since I was a kid. 

“He’d not changed so but I’d ’a’ knowed him 
anywheres; but he’d grown pretty gray an’ he had a 
sad, discouraged look that wa’n’t there when we was 
young together. 

“‘Hain’t life been very good to y’u, Johnnie?’ I 
asked him, an’ then we sat down an’ he told me all 
that had happened to him since he quit me. He’d 
had almighty hard luck, an’ I guess it had soured 
him some. He’d lost his wife, early, an’ then, when 
he’d brought up best way he could a mess o’ mother- 
less children, they’d all died too, till the only person 
he had left in the world was little Maggie here, the 
child o’ his oldest son, who was killed, an’ his wife 
with him, in a dynamite explosion at the old Red 
Flag Mine, down in Calaveras County. Besides all 


A MYSTERY EXPLAINED 245 


this, Johnnie’d had bad luck in business. He’d never 
made much money, an’ what he had made he’d lost, 
an’ now he was gettin’ old, an’ had rheumatism pretty 
bad, an’ nothin’ to keep him. He’d got a roof to 
cover him, thanks to some relative back East, an’ he 
might be able to do a little work, odd jobs now an’ then. 
But that was about all. I could see that what worried 
him worst was what would become o’ the little girl 
when he had to pull up his stakes ^n’ move on. 

‘^Wall, can’t y’u see how good I felt, knowin’ 
about the sack o’ gold dust I had, stored away safe 
an’ sound under my hearth? Johnnie an’ me had 
always shared each other’s luck, an’ I never even 
thought o’ not sharin’ this. 

‘Johnnie,’ says I, ‘don’t y’u say another word, 
but set here where y’u be till I get back!’ An’ then 
I left him an’ went back to my cabin, an’ came here 
again with my sack o’ gold. 

“Johnnie was sittin’ where I’d left him, an’ the 
little girl was playin’ in the corner with some acorn 
cups I’d brung her when I first come over.” 

“I remember it — I remember it!” cried Maggie, 
suddenly. “I’d forgot before!” 

“I pulled up a chair by Johnnie’s,” Larry went 
on, “an’ I spread a paper on it, an’ then I told him 
to look. An’ I poured out all the gold dust I’d 
gathered, in a heap on the paper. There was five or 
six hundred dollars’ worth. 

“ ‘ It’s half mine an’ half y’urs, Johnnie, old friend ! ’ 
I cried. 


246 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


Johnnie stared at it like he’d never seen any gold 
before. 

“ 'Where’d y’u get it?’ he asked, pretty soon. 

‘^An’ I told him — great fool that I was! I never 
even thought o’ swearin’ him to secrecy. He was 
my old pardner, an’ I trusted him like I would 
myself. 

^^When he heard that I’d got the gold off the 
ranch he was livin’ on, his face sort o’ changed, so’t 
I wouldn’t have knowed him any more. He bent 
over an’ put his arms around the little heap o’ gold, 
like he loved it, an’ was afraid it would get away. 
I’d^ seen men act like that before, but I didn’t know 
it was in Johnnie to. It’s a disease, I reckon. An’ 
he’d had tough luck. Someway, I can see things a 
little different to-night, now I’m talking out like I 
never expected to do. 

^You’ve no right to this!’ he said, an’ if he’d 
knifed me, it wouldn’t ’a’ hurt more, cornin’ from 
him. ‘ This belongs to my nephew, who owns this 
property. I’ll write an’ tell him o’ your discovery, 
an’ I dare say he’ll allow you a liberal commission.’ 

^^An’ all the time I knowed he was lyin’, an’ 
he knowed I knowed it. He wanted the dirt for 
himself — an’ maybe for the child. I want to be 
fair. 

‘Commission nothin’!’ I cried, mighty hot. ‘I’ll 
take it back where I found it, an’ scatter it to the 
winds first!’ An’ then I reached for the sack I’d 
brung it in. 


A MYSTERY EXPLAINED 247 


'If y’u take away an ounce o’ this gold, I’ll 
have y’u prosecuted for minin’ my nephew’s prop- 
erty,’ he said, cold an’ hateful. An’ I knowed he 
could do it. He’d more eddication than I had, an’ 
knowed a good deal about law an’ courts. 

"Then all the love I had for that man turned into 
burnin’ hate. Everything got red in front o’ my 
eyes, an’ I felt in my clothes for somethin’ to kill 
him with, an’ I found my prospectin’ hammer. 
I was stronger than Johnnie, an’ he wa’n’t armed. 
But all of a sudden, it come over me, like things do, 
about one time, up in the range, when I’d got moun- 
tain fever an’ he’d sat up night after night to nurse 
me, an’ saved my life. An’ then I heard the little 
girl screamin’, 'Gran’pa! Gran’pa!’ 

"I put the hammer back into my clothes an’ went 
out of the house an’ home again. There every- 
thin’ was, just like I’d left it when I come back an’ 
got the gold. The loose stone was lay in’ on top the 
hearth, an’ I remember the first thing I done was to 
put it back in its place. 

"An’ that’s the end o’ that part o’ the story. I 
never spoke to Jonathan Sturtevandt again.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


A HAPPY ENDING TO A SORROWFUL TALE 

After that,” continued Larry Jukes, just 
one idea left in life. I wanted to fill the hole under 
my loose brick with another sack o’ yellow dust. It 
wa’n’t that I needed money. It was just bitter- 
ness, I reckon. 

knew Johnnie was huntin’ for my diggins, but 
he never found ’em. He got so bad with his rheu- 
matism that he couldn’t climb around like he did 
once. Anyway, he fooled away his time down at the 
river bed. I hadn’t happened to say where on the 
ranch I’d found the gold, an’ I suppose he thought 
the river was the likeliest spot. I never went near 
his house again while he was alive. But nights I’d 
take my pan an’ lantern, an’ go along the moun- 
tain through the woods till I come to the place where 
I’d made my strike. I’d got the easiest half out 
already, an’ it’s taken several years to fill the sack 
Jerry brung over to-night, as full as the one that 
John Sturtevandt kept. Often there’d be months I 
wouldn’t go near the place; an’ since y’u have been 
here I’ve had less chance than ever to work, for I 
was always afraid some o’ y’u would find me out, 

248 


A HAPPY ENDING 


249 


an’ I only dared go over once in a while for a half- 
hour or so. There’s where I’d been the day I fell 
over a log an’ hurt myself. I was tryin’ to crawl 
away from my pick an’ pan when y’u found me an’ 
brung me here.” 

Larry stopped, as if the story were now quite 
finished. He stroked Tom Quartz absently, and 
gazed with somber eyes into the dying coals of the 
fire that the boys had quite forgotten to replenish. 
Every one was looking at him questioningly, wait- 
ing for something more. After a long silence, dur- 
ing which a great deal of thinking and speculating 
was being done, Robin spoke. 

‘‘There’s one thing I’d like to ask,” she said. 
“Why have you told us all this?” 

Larry roused himself. 

“ Do y’u know what it is to have a battle ragin’ in- 
side o’ your brain for more than six mortal months?” 
he asked, with something of the hunted, desperate 
look in his face that Robin had seen there the night 
of his delirium. “That’s what’s been happenin’ to 
me ever since y’u came up here an’ treated me so 
kind an’ friendly, an’ wanted to neighbor with me. 
I’ve been thinkin’, day an’ night, ‘It’s them I’m 
robbin’ of what belongs to ’em! ’ Before, I’d knowed 
it was somebody else’s property I was takin’, but 
the owner wa’n’t even a name to me, an’ I’d reasoned 
that he’d probably never have found what I’d found, 
anyways, so he wa’n’t any poorer for me bein’ a 
little richer. An’ after Johnnie had went back on 


250 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


me, I was so full o’ hate an’ bitterness I didn’t care 
for nothin’. 

‘‘But when I saw you, Miss Arnold, slavin’, up to 
Twenty Rattles, to earn a little money, an’ when I 
saw what hard times y’u was goin’ to have to get 
along, I began to feel mean as a rattlesnake. I tried 
long ago to get up my nerve to tell y’u, but I never 
could do it, nor make up my mind to quit till I’d got 
every grain o’ gold out o’ that brook bed. An’ like 
enough I’d never have told nor quit if it hadn’t been 
for my gettin’ hurt an’ bein’ sick, an’ y’u bein’ so 
good to me, one an’ all. I couldn’t stand it no 
longer, so I’ve told. Y’u can do what y’u please 
about it. I don’t much care what becomes o’ me, only 
I can’t stay around here when everybody knows about 
this. I’ll be well enough to tramp pretty soon, an’ 
then Tom an’ me’ll light out an’ bother y’u no more. 
I guess mebby there’s enough in that there little 
sack to pay for the trouble y’u’ve been put to, an’ 
mebby ” 

“Ifr. Jukes cried Robin; and when he looked 
at her he saw that the tears were rolling down her 
cheeks. “ Of course you’re not going away ! And of 
course no one but ourselves shall ever know a word 
about the gold except that you found and brought it 
to us! Tell him so, boys — why don’t you tell 
him so?” 

“I don’t deserve it!” protested Larry, faintly. 

“I didn’t know folks could be so — so ” His 

voice broke. Don and Jerry were shaking his 


A HAPPY ENDING 


251 


hands with almost painful cordiality, and Robin was 
smiling down into his perturbed face, trying her 
best not to cry from sheer pity for the poor old 
man. 

No one had noticed that Maggie had stolen away 
from the group until she burst upon them suddenly 
from the stairway that led to the boys’ den and the 
unfinished lumber room behind it, commonly called 
the “attic.” Her eyes were wild With excitement, 
and in her hands she carried something old and 
dusty and gray with cobwebs — a counterpart of the 
canvas sack that Jerry had brought that night from 
Larry’s cabin, and filled, like the other, with some- 
thing heavy. 

“Look — look!” she cried to Larry and to her 
astonished cousins. 

For a few minutes they could get nothing coherent 
out of her, so great was her excitement ; but presently 
she grew calm enough to explain herself, and this, 
in substance, is the tale she told. 

Larry’s story, from the point where he came to 
the house to see her grandfather, had been awaken- 
ing long-dormant memories in the child’s mind. 
While he had gone on with the relation of his own 
actions after the rupture between himself and his 
old partner, Maggie’s brain had been busy trying to 
recall what her grandfather had done after the 
quarrel, and what had become of the sack of gold. 
It had all come back to her gradually, ~ how the old 
man had sat moodily for a long time in his chair, pay- 


252 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


ing no attention to her as she played about him and 
dipped her little fingers into the pretty yellow sand 
that lay heaped on the chair beside him; how at last 
he had risen, gathered the gold dust again into its 
sack, and carried it up the stairs and into the unwin- 
dowed little attic; how, tagging at his heels, she had 
seen him deposit his treasure behind an old chest, 
far back in the dark angle formed by the sloping 
roof and the floor; and how, when he had found that 
the little girl was with him, he had cautioned her 
never to take the sack from its place, and how they 
had gone downstairs together. 

From that day to this, the incident, of no great 
interest to a little child, had slipped from her mem- 
ory. Never, until to-night, had she gone to that 
dark, out-of-the-way corner of the old lumber room 
again; but to-night, remembering everything as if it 
had happened a week before, she had gone straight 
to the spot and had found what she had seen put 
there long ago. 

That her grandfather had not so completely 
neglected the place where his hoard was hidden was 
evident when the sack was opened, for on top of 
the gold dust lay a note addressed to Larry Jukes. 
Don, who had opened the sack, handed this to 
the old prospector without a word, and they all 
waited in almost unbearable impatience while Larry 
unfolded the paper with shaking hands and 
read its contents to himself. When he had finished 
reading, Larry handed the note to Don, bidding 


A HAPPY ENDING 


253 


him in a broken voice to read it aloud to the rest. 
Then the old man bowed his head into his hands, 
and slow tears trickled down through his knotty 
fingers as Don read in subdued tones the message 
from the dead. It was dated only a week before 
Jonathan Sturtevandt’s death. 

Dear Larry : Here^s your gold — every ounce of it. Pve 
tried to spend it for the child, hut I couldn’t. And I’ve tried to 
send it to the man hack East that it rightfully belongs to, hut 
I couldn’t. I’d bring it to you to-day, but I’m too much of a 
coward to, even if I had the strength to crawl to your shack, 
which I haven’t. It’s been all I could do even to get up here 
where I’ve had your dust hidden all these lonesome years. For 
I’m dying, Larry. A few more days and you’ll hear some way 
that I’m dead, and then Maggie will come to you and bring you 
this note and the gold. I don’t know what’s right or wrong any 
more. I only know that you were my partner — the best friend 
I ever had, and I’d like to have you think kinder of me when 
I’m gone than you’ve done lately. I’ll tell Maggie about the 
gold before I die. Good-by, Larry. Good-by, and good luck. 

“He did try to tell me — I know now what he 
meant! ’’ sobbed Maggie. “He kept saying ‘Larry! 
Larry!’ over and over again, and something else, but 
I didn’t understand — I didn’t understand!” 

“Never mind. Missy! It’s all right now,” said 
Larry, putting his arm about the child and drawing 
her close to his side. “We understand now — an’ 
y’ur gran’pa, mebby he does, too — who knows?” 
His eyes were full of dreams. 

“I’m sure he does!” cried Robin, wiping away her 
tekrs. “And I believe he’s very happy if he knows 
that everything has come out right at last. We 
ought to be rejoicing instead of crying. Here’s a 


254 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


hateful mystery cleared up at last, and a little fortune 
waiting to be spent for the advantage of us all.” 

‘‘It’s y’urs — every cent of it!” declared Larry. 
“Y’u are y’ur father’s only heirs, an’ the gold is 
part o’ his estate.” 

“It isn’t a question of legal ownership,” said Don. 
“It’s a question of justice. You found the gold 
and did the hard work necessary to getting it out. 
Of course you shall have your share.” 

“When I meant to steal it all? ” 

“We’ve forgotten all about that!” said Jerry, 
quickly. 

“I don’t know what I’d use a lot o’ money for,” 
mused Larry. “I’ve got my little shack, an’ what 
they pay me at the mine is more’n enough to keep 
me an’ Tom comfortable. There’s only one thing 
I care about, an’ if y’u think it would be all right to 
save enough out for that, I’d be well satisfied.” 

“What is it?” asked Robin. “But of course it 
will be all right.” 

“When I’m through with this here old body, I’d 
like to think it would be taken down to the San 
Joaquin valley, to a place I’ll tell y’u about some 
time, an’ laid to rest beside the grave where we 
buried my girl, fifty years an’ more ago. Would it 
be askin’ too much for y’u to see that that’s done 
when I’m dead?” 

“It’s asking very little,” replied Robin. “We 
promise to see that that is done, don’t we, boys?” 

“Of course we do,” agreed Don and Jerry. 


A HAPPY ENDING 


255 


“Thank y’u! That’s all lean think of to ask. 
An’ whatever else y’u think ought to come to me, I’d 
rather would go to Johnnie’s little girl.” 

“It shall,” said Don, quickly. “Anyway, Mag- 
gie’s to be our sister for the rest of her life, so she 
comes in as much as we do on an3rthing we have.” 

“How much is there all together in the two sacks, 
Mr. Jukes?” asked Jerry. 

“Somewhere between a thousands an’ twelve hun- 
dred dollars, I reckon,” said Larry. “Not a big 
fortune, but enough to help y’u get a start.” 

“ It means education for you, Don, and for Jerry and 
Maggie ! ’ ’ cried Robin. “ That’s the very best invest- 
ment we could make of it — I know father would 
say so if he were here. Of course it won’t be enough 
alone, but we’ve got our start here without it now, 
and we can put it all at interest and work hard to 
save more to go with it. Oh, I’m so thankful, so 
thankful!” 

“And to-morrow’s Thanksgiving Day!” said 
Jerry, more seriously than his wont. “We have a 
good deal to be thankful for, haven’t we?” 

“None so much as I,” said Larry Jukes. “For 
I’ve got a clean conscience for the first time in years, 
an’ what’s more, I’ve got back something I thought 
I’d lost forever.” 

“Not the sack of gold dust?” queried Jerry, 
doubtfully. 

“I know,” said Don, very soberly. “It’s your 
love for your old friend and his for you.” 


256 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


“That’s it, lad,” said Larry. “He’s dead — 
Johnnie is; but death ain’t no such separation as 
hatred is.” 

“There’s something else you have — and I hope 
it’s something to be thankful for,” said Robin; and 
as she spoke she came to the back of the old man’s 
chair and laid a light hand on each of his shoulders; 
“and that’s the love of a whole houseful of new 
friends. They can’t take the place of the old one, 
but they can be very true and very loving, and I 
think they can help to make the last years of your 
life a little less lonely. May they try?” 

And as Larry tried to speak, but could not, Robin 
leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, as no 
woman had kissed him for more than fifty years. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


A CHAPTER OF SURPRISES 

Trump and his master had been invited to the 
Robin^s Nest for Thanksgiving dinner, and they 
appeared on the scene quite as soon after breakfast 
as was consistent with good manners. Finding the 
front door inhospitably shut, John Forrest strolled 
around the piazza to the open kitchen 'door, where 
he stood enjoying the lively scene within for several 
minutes undiscovered. 

Robin and Maggie were bustling about, getting 
everything in readiness for the approaching feast; 
Jerry, with a big blue gingham apron tied around 
his neck, was paring potatoes; Don was at the sink, 
chopping to pieces a hard-shelled Hubbard squash 
with his hatchet ; Larry Jukes was sitting in his arm- 
chair by the stove, peacefully popping corn; Tom 
Quartz was under everybody’s feet, unreasonably 
growling and spitting whenever a skirt brushed 
against him or a foot trod ever so lightly on his 
tail. 

The air was deliciously suggestive of the fact that 
this was the last Thursday in November. A heap 
of spicy golden cookies, just out of the oven, lay 

257 


258 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


cooling on a fresh towel on the little side table; a 
basin of crimson cranberries bubbled away cheer- 
fully on top of the stove, and a half open cupboard 
door revealed a row of mince pies, brown and flaky 
and tempting almost beyond belief, with a magnifi- 
cent fern leaf slashed in the top of every one by 
Jerry’s artistic hand. 

The dining table had been carried into the sitting- 
room for this festal occasion, and was already laid 
for dinner, looking so dainty and elegant, with its 
snowy cloth and napkins, its vase of late chrysanthe- 
mums from Robin’s autumn garden, and with the 
silver coffee urn that had been Great-grandmother 
Sturtevandt’s, shining resplendently among the tea 
cups and saucers, that Maggie could not refrain 
from furtive peeps through the crack of the door 
every five minutes. 

Mr. Forrest coughed apologetically. 

“Good morning! I’m afraid I’ve come too early, 
but I couldn’t seem to stay away.” 

They all looked up from their occupations to find 
him smiling down upon them from the doorway. 

“Good morning!” cried everybody, and then 
Robin added severely: — 

“But you have come too early. It’s only eleven, 
and you weren’t invited till one; and, moreover, there 
isn’t room in this kitchen for another person, to say 
nothing of a dog.” 

“Shall I go back?” he inquired meekly. 

“Well,” relenting a little, “now that you’re here, 


A CHAPTER OF SURPRISES 259 


you might as well stay, but you’ll have to be put 
to work if you do!” 

Thank you, kind lady,” murmured the new- 
comer, humbly. “And please, what am I to do?” 

“Let me see,” frowned Robin. “I guess you can 
crack those hazel nuts first. You’ll find a hammer 
and a broken flat-iron on the shelf above the sink. 
We haven’t a nut-cracker. And when that’s done, 
you can shell some more corn for Uncle Lar7y’s 
popper.” 

“That’s the way we get treated all the time, Mr. 
Forrest,” grumbled Jerry. “She routed Don and 
me out of bed and made us pitch in before daylight 
this morning — honest she did!” 

“Hard lines, Jerry! My heart aches for you,” 
replied Forrest, cheerfully, putting down the basket 
he carried and helping himself to a cookie. “By 
the way. Miss Robin, there’s something for you in 
this basket. It’s a present from Twenty Rattles. 
You see everybody is going to be away to-day, except 
Mr. Abbott and the Smiths. Mrs. Smith is our 
cook, you know, of course.” 

“Yes, I’ve heard you speak of her,” said Robin, 
“though I’ve been so busy I haven’t found time to 
go up and call on my successor. How do you all 
like her?” 

“Oh, famously! Actually, Miss Robin, we 
wouldn’t have known that you’d left, if we’d had 
only the cooking to judge from.” 

“But what is it she’s sent us?” asked Jerry, 


260 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


interestedly, throwing an unfrugally thick potato 
paring to Trump, who caught it hopefully, but 
promptly spit it out in disgust. 

“I’m getting to that. Don’t spoil my story, Jerry. 
Well, Mrs. Smith didn’t realize that all the men 
would be going over to Angel Flat or somewhere 
for the day, so what did she do but plan a regular 
down-east Thanksgiving dinner, with all the fur- 
belows. She was genuinely disappointed when 
she discovered that there wasn’t going to be any 
one there to eat it but Mr. Abbott and her husband. 
She’d made pies and cakes and all sorts of stuff — 
enough to last a week. So when I mentioned that 
I was coming down here to dinner, she asked me if I 
wouldn’t like to carry a basket of the stuff she had 
been baking. I knew you wouldn’t need it, but I 
didn’t like to refuse, and maybe hurt her feelings, 
so I packed it along, and here it is.” 

After this long preamble, the basket was uncov- 
ered and its contents transferred to already brimming 
cupboard shelves. There was a beautiful cake 
with chocolate icing, and some of the most delectable 
looking doughnuts that Jerry the epicure had ever 
seen — so he declared. Beside the contribution 
from the boarding-house kitchen was a big sack of 
oranges and another of purple and white grapes, 
rich and meaty and half as large as plums, the pride 
of some California vineyard. The fruit was from 
Mr. Abbott, and a huge box of candy from San 
Francisco was Mr. Forrest’s contribution. 


A CHAPTER OF SURPRISES 261 


‘‘How very kind you all are!’’ cried Robin; and 
then she added regretfully: “And you say Mr. Abbott 
is to be all alone except for the cook and her 
husband? Won’t he be very lonesome?” 

“I suspect he will — a little. His daughter was 
here with him last Thanksgiving Day.” 

“Why didn’t we invite him over^here?” asked 
Don. 

“ I did think of it, but I wasn’t sure that he would 
care to come. I wish now that I had.” 

“It isn’t too late, Miss Robin. I’ll gladly run over 
for you, and I know he’ll be delighted to come. To 
be strictly honest,” the speaker confessed, “I came 
down early especially to hint around for an invitation 
for my poor ‘boss.’ He looked so confoundedly 
forlorn when we were eating breakfast together this 
morning.” 

“I’ll go myself!” declared Robin, remorsefully, 
beginning to untie her apron at once. “The turkey 
is all ready to go into the oven, and then there won’t 
be anything but what Maggie can do for a couple 
of hours.” 

“At least you’ll let me walk over with you?” 
pleaded the young man. “I really feel the need 
of more exercise, and it’s such a lovely morning 
after the rain.” 

“Who’ll crack my nuts?” objected Robin. 

“I will!” volunteered Uncle Larry. “Y’u young 
folks just step along, an’ me an’ the little girl ’ll see 
to everythin’.” 


262 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


‘^Be sure you keep Jerry and Tom out of the 
pantry/’ Robin warned them, as she rolled down 
her sleeves, smoothed her hair, and put on her hat. 

Alone, Robin would have gone to the mine by 
the road — the longer and easier way; but at her 
companion’s suggestion they took instead a well- 
known trail that ran rather steeply up over the 
shoulder of the mountain and down again on the 
other side to Twenty Rattles and the river. The 
distance by this short cut was considerably shorter 
than by the road, which circled around the base of 
the mountain, but the views from the hilltop were 
so beautiful and extended that it was a constant 
temptation to stop and gaze and take long breaths 
of the fresh, rain-washed air. Perhaps that accounts 
for the fact that it was nearly an hour from the time 
they left the Robin’s Nest before they arrived at the 
mine. Mr. Abbott was sitting on his porch, read- 
ing, when they came down the trail. When Robin 
spoke to him he looked up with something of a start, 
and glanced inquiringly at Forrest, who shook his 
head. Robin was too intent on her errand to pay 
much attention to this interchange. Her tardy 
invitation to the superintendent was given in so 
cordial a way that he really couldn’t have declined 
it had he wanted to, which was far from being the 
case. 

'H’ll be only too glad. Miss Roberta. Dinner 
at two, you say? I must just scratch off a letter or 
so, and then I’ll come. Jack, suppose you run 


A CHAPTER OF SURPRISES 263 


over and tell Mrs. Smith I’ll be away, before you 
go back.” 

‘‘Let me go over with you,” said Robin. “I’d 
like to meet Mrs. Smith and thank her for her pres- 
ent. Anyway,” she admitted, laughing, “I’d rather 
like to take a peep into my old realm and see if it’s 
as well kept as it was in my day.” 

“I’d like to say it isn’t, but honesty compels me 
to prophesy that you won’t find many flaws to pick 
in Mrs. Smith’s housekeeping,” replied the young 
man as he followed her down the trail to the board- 
ing-house. 

Everything looked quite as usual about the place. 
The big horn hung from its accustomed nail by the 
door. Over the bench, a fresh brown roller-towel 
fluttered pleasantly in the breeze, and the basin that 
hung beside it shone like a headlight in the noonday 
sun. The porch floors were scrubbed very white, 
as were the ones indoors, arid the dining table was 
neatly set and covered with a crisp white mosquito- 
bar. 

“I think Mrs. Smith must be in the kitchen,” 
said Forrest. “Let’s go out and investigate.” 

Robin preceded him through the doorway, but 
there she stopped short, transfixed. 

A pleasant-faced, motherly-looking woman, a 
trifle stout and just past middle age, was sitting in 
a low rocker by the window. The stocking she had 
been darning rested idly in her white-aproned lap. 
Her steel-rimmed spectacles lay on the window-sill 


264 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


beside her. Several little wisps of soft gray hair, 
straying from under her white cap, were sporting 
unreproved with the light wind that blew in through 
the frost-nipped hop vines that still shaded the open 
window. Mrs. Smith, lulled by the unusual quiet 
of the day, was sound asleep. 

^Ht’s almost too bad to disturb her,’’ Forrest was 
remarking, when, to his utter bewilderment, he saw 
Robin spring forward and throw herself on her knees 
by the sleeper. 

‘‘Chrissiel Chris sie! ChrissieV'^ she was crying. 
‘^Wake up, Chrissie, and speak to your little girl!” 

And Chrissie, waking with a start, and rubbing 
her eyes as if she must still be dreaming, realized at 
last that she was awake, and caught Robin to her 
motherly bosom. 

After all, it was not half so strange as it might 
have been. The old housekeeper and nurse who 
had lived with the Arnolds since before Robin was 
born, had, on their removal from Summerville to 
New York, gone to Montana to live with a brother. 
They had heard from her but seldom, for writing a 
letter had always been far harder for Chrissie than 
getting up a big Christmas dinner or doing a family 
ironing. They had heard that she had met and 
married a worthy bachelor of her own age, and they 
had remembered that his name was Smith; but that 
she had left Montana after her marriage they had 
not known. The combination of circumstances 
which had brought her to Twenty Rattles was soon 


A CHAPTER OF SURPRISES 265 


explained. Her husband had worked for Mr. 
Abbott at some time before his marriage; and when, 
the preceding spring, he had been thrown out of 
work by the shutting 'down of the Montana mine 
where he was running a drill, he had come back to 
Minersville and had written to his former employer 
to know if there was an opening for him in the 
California property. He had mentioned the fact 
that he was married, and Mr. Abbott, receiving the 
letter just after his cook had left, had written at 
once to Henry Smith, offering him his old position 
at Twenty Rattles, and asking if the new wife could 
cook, and if she would like the vacant position at the 
‘‘cafe.” The rest of the story — how the Smiths 
had been delayed in Minersville by the husband’s 
long illness, and how at last they had come up to the 
mine, was already known. 

“What I canH understand is your being here 
nearly three months, within two miles of us, and our 
not dreaming of it,” said Robin. 

“ ’Tain’t so queer, come to think of it,” replied 
Chrissie, her arm around the girl’s slender waist. 
They were standing side by side at the window, 
facing Mr. Forrest, who sat on the kitchen table 
unreproved, enjoying their pleasure as heartily as if 
it had been his own. “I’d heard there was some 
folks from down East livin’ on a farm down yonder, 
but, land sakes! it never crossed my mind that it 
was any one from old Summerville — let alone my 
own folks, or same as my own.” 


266 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


‘^Hadn’t you ever happened to hear our names?” 

Likens not I have, but if so, it went in one ear 
and out the other. Arnold ain’t such an uncommon 
name, anyways. There’s folks by the name of 
Arnold up there in Montana where Brother Jim 
lives, a Jabez Arnold and his ” 

“And Don and I haven’t been here once since 
you came, as it’s happened. Jerry comes three 
times a week, but he just stops at Mr. Abbott’s 
office going and coming, and always after dark, so 
you wouldn’t have met him. Maggie came over 
several times with vegetables early in the fall, but of 
course you wouldn’t have known her or she you.” 

“And as for their not hearing about you, Mrs. 
Smith,” suggested John Forrest, “if Arnold isn’t an 
uncommon name. Smith can hardly be said to be.” 

“No, Smith ain’t uncommon; but it’s a good 
honest name, and I’m proud to answer to it. Have 
you seen my husband yet, dearie?” — turning to 
Robin. 

“Not yet,” replied Robin. “Or if I ever have 
done so, I never guessed that he belonged to you.” 

Chrissie went to the door of the little room that 
had been Robin’s for so many weeks. 

“Henry! Henry she called. “Wake up and 
come out here! There’s somebody here I want you 
should see. Anyway, I call it shiftless to sleep all 
day, if it is Thanksgiving Day!” The mild tones 
in which the rebuke was administered reminded 
Robin of the way Chrissie had been wont to chide 


A CHAPTER OF SURPRISES 267 


Don and Jerry for their depredations on her cooky 
jar in the good old days. 

There was a sound of creaking springs and scrap- 
ing boots, and presently Henry emerged — a tall, 
loose-jointed, iron-muscled westerner, with a shaggy 
head of hair, a lean, intelligent, smooth-shaven face, 
a pleasant smile and a slow, easy-going, imper- 
turbable way about him that Robin contrasted in 
inward amusement with his wife’s brisk, thrifty, 
New England ways. 

“Who’d ever have thought of our spinster Chrissie 
marrying a wild westerner like this ? But I believe 
I am going to like him!” Robin was thinking, as 
she shook hands cordially with Henry Smith. 

‘^And now, Chrissie, you and your husband must 
come straight over to the Robin’s Nest and eat 
Thanksgiving turkey with us,” declared Robin. 

won’t listen to an objection! I simply can’t 
wait to see Don’s and Jerry’s face when they see 
you!” 

‘'Bless your heart, dearie, of course we’ll come. 
That is, if we won’t be in the way, and if you will let 
me help about dinner.” 

“I’ll let you do anything, Chrissie, — absolutely 
anything. You may even scrub my floors and wash 
my windows if you wish, though I’m hoping you 
won’t think they need it. But I mustn’t wait for you. 
I’m afraid Maggie won’t remember to baste my 
turkey often enough, and I ought to be hurrying 
home.” 


268 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


“We’ll be over as soon as Henry can shave and I 
can get on my other dress, child!” called Chrissie 
after Robin, as the latter started down the trail with 
Mr. Forrest. “I’d got my dinner all started, but 
I shall just let the fire go out under it, and come 
along!” 

Fortunately Maggie had not forgotten to baste 
the turkey. That handsome bird would have been 
dried quite to a chip if she had, for it was long after 
one o’clock when Robin and John Forrest appeared 
at the Robin’s Nest, the latter in radiant spirits, the 
former flushed and laughing, and apologetic for 
her long absence. They had found the family sit- 
ting on the porch waiting for them, for this California 
Thanksgiving Day was warm as summer, now that 
the sun was high. 

Perhaps if Robin had been a degree calmer her- 
self, she might have noticed a curious look of excite- 
ment on the four faces in front of her, but she did not. 

“What made you hurry back?” asked Jerry, iron- 
ically. “ Dinner won’t be ready for half an hour yet. ” 

“ It’s all right, Robin, ” comforted Maggie. “ I’ve 
got the vegetables all ready to put over, and the tur- 
key is just &ee-eautiful ! ” 

“Is Mr. Abbott coming?” asked Don, with an 
odd look at the engineer. 

“Yes, indeed, and I’ve picked up two other guests 
besides, so we’ll have to run in and crowd more 
places on the table,” and Robin opened the door. 

“Let’s all go in and help!” cried Jerry, leaping 


A CHAPTER OF SURPRISES 269 


to his feet, and upon that every one save Larry, who 
could only hobble on crutches as yet, proceeded to 
stampede after her. 

For the second time that day Robin had her breath 
quite taken away. She stood just inside the door- 
way, with an eager group around her watching the 
changing expressions on her face. Across one cor- 
ner of the room, in a place that might have been 
especially designed for its occupancy, stood a beauti- 
ful little grand piano — the very one, Robin knew 
at a glance, that she had often looked at with covetous 
eyes when in Mr. Abbott’s office. 

“What does it mean ? Where did it come from ? ” 
she faltered, turning to her older brother, as she 
always did when she was perplexed. 

Don threw his arm around her and hugged her 
enthusiastically. 

“Don’t you understand. Sis? Mr. Abbott sent 
it. It’s his daughter Cicely’s, and you’re to keep 
it till she comes home. Isn’t it jolly?” 

“Sit down and give us a ‘chune,’ ” begged Jerry. 
“ I’ve been dying to try my one-finger arrangement of 
‘Yankee Doodle,’ but Don’s a tyrant. He wouldn’t 
let the thing be touched till you got here.” 

Robin turned accusingly to her escort of the 
morning. 

“You knew about this all the time!” 

“I’m afraid I can’t deny it!” confessed Mr. 
Abbott’s fellow-conspirator, not looking in the least 
ashamed of himself. 


270 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


‘‘And you took me by the trail instead of the road, 
so that we shouldn’t meet the wagon bringing it 
over!” 

“That’s what I did!” 

Robin sighed happily. “It’s the loveliest surprise 
I ever had. At least it’s the loveliest since — well, 
since this morning,” she concluded mysteriously. 
“How about Miss Cicely — won’t she mind?” 

“Mr. Abbott wrote to ask her, and she wrote back 
that she’d be tickled to death to have you use it, or 
words to that effect,” explained Mr. Forrest. 

“Tune ’er up! Tune ’er up!” cried Jerry, im- 
patiently. “I want to see if you’ve forgotten how 
to play.” 

But Robin shook her head. 

“Not now, Jerry. I’m too — too rattled, as my 
slangy brothers would say. And I must see to my 
dinner now. Afterwards — ” the adoring look she 
gave the beautiful instrument finished the sentence 
better than words. No one could ever know how 
she had missed music in this new home of theirs. 

“How about that other surprise you hinted at?” 
asked Don, as Robin was disappearing into the 
kitchen. 

“Go down to the bridge and wait for it — you 
and Jerry ! ” she called back over her shoulder. “ It’s 
on the way!” 

The boys obeyed her bidding, though they could 
not imagine that anything very startling would 
develop. Maggie had gone to the spring brook 


A CHAPTER OF SURPRISES 271 


for water, and Uncle Larry was sitting in the big 
chair on the piazza, gazing dreamily up at the pine- 
clad slopes of the “Back Yard,” and crooning softly 
to himself : — 

“‘We are wreck an’ stray, 

We are cast away, 

Poor battered old hulks and spars — 

But though the words were sad, there was no sad- 
ness in the old man’s heart to-day, nothing but 
thankfulness and peace. 

Everything was ready to serve at last, and Robin 
laid aside her apron and came back to John For- 
rest’s side where he stood by the open door, waiting 
for Don and Jerry and the tardier guests. 

“They’re coming,” he announced, smiling down 
at her. “Listen!” 

She heard voices in conversation, drawing nearer. 
Mr. Abbott’s low, cultivated tones and Henry Smith’s 
good-humored drawl; Chrissie’s familiar New Eng- 
land accent as she replied to Don’s and Jerry’s 
excited questionings. A minute more, and they would 
all come in sight from behind the trees. 

“Oh, what a happy Thanksgiving Day!” cried 
Robin, softly, feeling, for very gladness, strangely 
close to tears. 

The young man stood looking down at her still, 
and the smile had not faded from his lips; though 
the look in his gray eyes was very serious. 

“An altogether blessed Thanksgiving Day!” he 
agreed. 


CHAPTER XXV 


IN THE LIGHT OF THE PITCH-PINE FIRE 

There were so many good things to be eaten, and 
so many questions to be asked and answered, that 
the Robin’s Nest party did not rise from their dinner 
table till nearly four o’clock. 

^‘Now we must hurry to get things cleared away, 
so that we can have a good long evening together,” 
said Robin. ‘^If you gentlemen will be so kind as 
to retire to the piazza for a few ” 

‘‘Why, we’re going to help — at least I am!” 
declared Mr. Forrest, beginning to pile plates together 
with a reckless clatter. 

“You’ll be a great deal less help than bother,” 
prophesied Robin, as she stood on tiptoe to tie a pair 
of apron strings in a big bow at the back of the young 
man’s neck. 

“ Guess I’ll go out and get my chores done,” said 
Don. “I don’t believe there’s room enough for us 
all in this kitchen, anyway.” 

“Go along, do!” begged Robin. 

“As I presume that command applies as well to 
the rest of us useless drones, I think we’ll adopt 
your suggestion about the porch,” said Mr, Abbott. 

272 


LIGHT OF THE PITCH-PINE FIRE 273 


‘‘Here, Henry — give me a lift, and we’ll take Larry 
along, chair and all.” 

While the two girls, with Chrissie’s well-directed 
and Mr. Forrest’s well-meant efforts at assistance, 
were disposing of the remains of the feast and wash- 
ing and putting away the dishes, Jerry put the living- 
room to rights, called in Henry to lend him a hand 
in carrying the table back to the kitchen, brushed 
the crumbs from the floor, and then, with a huge, 
well-seasoned backlog and a full basket of pitch-pine 
chips, proceeded to lay a fire for the evening on the 
broad hearth of the fireplace. 

Already the sunshine had quite faded from the 
hilltops around the Robin’s Nest valley, and the 
Indian summer mildness of the day had given place 
to the frosty chill of oncoming night. 

As Robin was hanging up her big dish pan, Jerry 
looked in at the door to ask if he should light the 
lamps. 

“Not just yet, Jerry,” she answered him. “Let’s 
sit in the firelight first, for a while. But don’t start 
the fire till we’re all there.” 

Presently they all regathered in the living-room, 
Don from his out-of-door duties, Robin and her 
helpers from an immaculate kitchen, Mr. Abbott 
and the old prospector and Chrissie’s husband from 
the porch where they had been sitting. There 
weren’t easy chairs enough to go around, but Maggie 
and Jerry really preferred to share with Trump the 
bearskin before the hearth, and Robin was tired 


274 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


enough to be glad to lean luxuriously back among 
the hammock pillows and rest from the work and 
excitement and happiness of the day. Tom Quartz, 
full of turkey and contentment, and for once quite 
at peace with the world, even with Trump, purred 
amiably from his perch on Larry’s shoulder. 

“Now, Jerry, we’re all here! Touch off your 
fire.” 

At Don’s bidding, Jerry drew a match sputter- 
ingly across the rough stone, and touched it to a 
chip of pine so full of pitch that it blazed up like 
paper. A minute more and the wide black chimney 
was a-roar with leaping flames. The chill of the 
November night yielded to a mellow warmth and 
comfort. The dark shadows that had possessed 
themselves of the room fled to obscure corners and 
hid their diminished heads. From these vantage- 
points they tried now and then to steal forth, but 
only to be driven ignominiously back again by the 
ruddy glow that lighted the faces of the circle about 
the hearth, flickered gayly on the golden frames of 
two little paintings on the wall, and touched with 
rose the white glimmer of the piano’s ivory keys. 

After a little a quiet fell on the group before Jerry’s 
pitch-pine fire, and the crackling murmur of the 
flames, the ticking of the little clock, and Tom Quartz’ 
sleepy purring took the place of the lively conversa- 
tion that had been briskly carried on all the after- 
noon. Hearts and brains were busy with memories 
and hopes and dreams; and because there were more 


LIGHT OF THE PITCH-PINE FIRE 275 


who were young than old in the fire-lit, low-raftered 
room, there were more hopes than memories, more 
dreams of the future than dreams of the past. 

wonder where we’ll all be and what we’ll be 
doing next Thanksgiving Day,” mused Don, aloud, 
breaking the silence at last. 

“I hope we’ll be right here where we are now,” 
said Jerry. ^‘The Robin’s Nest and present com- 
pany are good enough for me for some time to 
come.” 

‘H’m quite of Jerry’s mind, provided that my 
little girl is with us then, as I hope she will be,” said 
Mr. Abbott. 

‘‘We all hope that,” said Robin, with a look of 
gratitude and affection at Cicely’s father. 

‘^Yeste’day I thought I was dretful homesick 
for old Summerville, and if it hadn’t been for Henry, 
I don’t know but I’d have picked up and gone, but 
now I feel’s if Summerville had come to me, and I 
think like’s not I’m the happiest old woman in Cali- 

forny! And if Henry ain’t satisfied ” 

be — I be!” Henry hastened to declare. 
‘‘There ain’t a blame thing in the world I want 
that I ain’t got.” And he looked at his gray-haired 
bride of a year with such pointed admiration that 
she blushed like a girl — unless the glow on her 
cheeks was caused by the fresh avalanche of pitch- 
pine that Jerry had just thrown on the fire. 

“There’s only one thing I’d like besides what 
we’ve got,” said Maggie. “If gran’pa was here ” 


276 WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


“That’s just what I was thinkin’, Missy!” said 
Larry Jukes, softly. “An’ I’ve been wonderin’ 
whether I wouldn’t likely be movin’ on to where 
he’s gone before another Thanksgivin’ Day.” 

“Nonsense, Uncle Larry! You’re good for ten 
years yet!” maintained Jerry, stoutly. 

“Let’s not even think of sad things, to-night,” 
implored Robin. “I want to be just happy after 
such a happy day.” 

Don understood what the little catch in his sister’s 
voice meant, for he, too, had been remembering 
that on last Thanksgiving Day their father had 
been with them, and he hastened, for her sake, to 
change the subject. 

“I’ll tell you what Jerry and I’ll be doing a year 
from now,” he remarked. “We’ll be boning for 
all we’re worth for college. I think I can be ready 
to go two years from last October, if we’ve got ahead 
enough then to afford it, and if Jerry tends to his 
knitting he can enter the next year. Of course we’ll 
have to work and help pay our way as we go. There 
are plenty of chances for fellows that want to do 
that.” 

Jerry seconded this plan with an “Of course!” 
noticeably lacking in enthusiasm. 

“And I’m to go to boarding school in San Fran- 
cisco,” said Maggie, mournfully. “I know I’ll hate 
it, but Robin says she went in Boston and liked it, 
and I’m sure I do want to know everything in the 
world, the way Robin does.” 


LIGHT OF THE PITCH-PINE FIRE 277 


Every one laughed at this unqualified compli- 
ment, and then John Forrest spoke up from the 
corner where he had been sitting, quietly enjoying 
the conversation. 

Seems to me you unfeeling youngsters are all 
planning to run away and leave the Robin’s Nest in 
two or three more years. What’s going to become 
of your sister, then, I’d like to know?” 

^And what will poor Robin do then, poor thing ? ’ ” 
sang Jerry, cheerfully. 

‘‘She can go along and keep house for us at Berke- 
ley or Palo Alto, or wherever we decide to go. Can’t 
you, Robin?” 

“Or she might stay up here and keep the Robin’s 
Nest open, so we could spend our vacations here and 
have the home all ready to come back to when we’ve 
got this tiresome college business off our hands.” 

“That would be a nice scheme!” commented 
Don, indignantly. “Do you really think I’d let 
Robin stay up here all alone, nine months of the 
year? If I thought you meant it, Jerry, I’d thrash 
you!” 

“She’d be very welcome to come up to the mine 
and live with us, wouldn’t she, Mrs. Smith?” said 
Mr. Abbott. “Cicely would be delighted to come 
home and find you there. Miss Robin. She’s 
always wished she had a sister.” 

Robin listened, much amused, to these various 
plans, and said no word. But presently, while her 
family and friends were still too busy disposing 


278 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


of her future to notice what she was doing, she 
turned to some one who sat not far from her ham- 
mock and gave him a look that brought him to her 
side. 

“What is it?” he whispered, bending over her. 

“Let’s tell them now. It will be easier to do it 
in the firelight, before the lamps have been lighted. 
And I can’t be quite happy till Don and Jerry 
know.” 

“As you wish, dear,” he replied, straightening 
himself suddenly, with a look on his face that drew 
the eyes of everybody in the room to him before he 
had said a word. 

And then occurred the last and greatest sensation 
of that exciting day. For before the astonished 
eyes of the assemblage — if Mr. Abbott didn’t look 
startled, no one noticed it — John Forrest was hold- 
ing Robin’s hand fast in his own, and saying, with a 
smile at once boyish and manly on his handsome 
face: — 

“Shall I tell you what ^poor Robin’ is going to do 
then — when you all go away and leave her?” And 
as he went on, though his words were light, the voice 
that spoke them vibrated with earnestness: “She’s 
going to ^hide her head under my wing,’ and it’s 
going to be the chief aim of my life to see that no one 
shall ever have occasion to add ‘poor thing!’ when 
they mention her having done so!” 

It took a minute or two for the great news con- 
tained in this short speech to penetrate fully into 


LIGHT OF THE PITCH-PINE FIRE 279 


the minds of his hearers. Then there arose a 
considerable hub-bub of questions and exclama- 
tions and hand-shaking and the like. But there 
was one person who didn’t say a word when he 
kissed his sister, and who bolted into the kitchen 
presently and stood there in the dim light that stole 
in from the next room, looking moodily out of the 
window into the blackness of the night. 

Robin missed him at once, and as soon as she 
could slip away without being noticed, she followed. 
He heard her light step behind him, but did not 
turn till he felt her arms around his neck and her 
cheek against his shoulder. 

‘^Don — dear Don! I’ll never marry him in the 
world if you don’t want me to!” she cried repent- 
antly. ^T don’t know why I needed to fall in love 
with him, anyway, when I had you, but I couldn’t 
seem to help it.” 

Don had to laugh at that, and he made a desperate 
and fairly successful effort to choke down the lump 
in his throat. 

“It’s all right. Sissy — don’t think I’m kicking. 
He’s an awfully good chap, and I suppose if you 
hadn’t fallen in love with him you would have done 
some time with some one else.” 

“Never!” cried Robin, with conviction. 

“It’s just that I felt a little as if the ground had 
dropped out from under me,” Don explained. “I 
dare say it was selfish of me, but I’d got it into my 
head that you and I would always stick together. 


280 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


and have a home of our own, even if Jerry wandered 
off.’’ 

But you may marry, yourself, Don, when you’re 
a few years older. Hadn’t that ever occurred to 
you?” 

But Don had no misgivings on that score. 

^H’m quite sure I never shall. I don’t care for 
girls — except you and Maggie, of course.” 

Robin smiled to herself in the dark at this cool 
dismissal of matrimony from among the possibilities 
of her brother’s future. 

“Well, brother mine, whether you don’t or whether 
you do, be very sure of one thing, always. You and 
Jerry will never be one bit less dear to your sister 
than you always have been, and nothing — nothing 
shall ever come between us. My home is always 
to be your home, and if John Forrest doesn’t want 
to marry my whole family, he shan’t marry me!” 

Perhaps the last part of this declaration was 
addressed less to Don than to somebody who had 
come quietly in search of the absentees, and who 
was standing beside them. 

“But I do want to marry the whole family!” he 
protested pleadingly. “I’ve been awfully alone in 
the world ever since I was a little lad, and there’s 
more than room enough in my heart for a couple of 
brothers and a little sister, as well as for a wife.” 
His hand was on Don’s shoulder now. “Don, old 
fellow, won’t you take my word for it, that I’d rather 
live alone and lonely all my life than to rob you and 


LIGHT OF THE PITCH-PINE FIRE 281 


Jerry of the least fraction of your sister’s love ? We 
can’t be completely happy till you’ve told us you’re 
satisfied, brother!” 

Don groped for some graceful words in which to 
assure them that he was, but he could find none, and 
had to content himself with wringing John Forrest’s 
hand fraternally. 

guess we’ll call it square,” he declared. ‘‘Come 
on — let’s go back. They’re calling us, and I don’t 
want them to think I’m playing baby.” 

“Where were you, Robin?” cried Jerry, as his 
sister reappeared. “We’ve been waiting for you to 
come and play for us. You haven’t tried the piano 
yet, you know.” 

“What do you want me to play?” asked Robin. 

“Something appropriate to the occasion — ‘Hail 
Columbia’ or the ‘Bridal Chorus’ from ‘Lohengrin,’” 
suggested Jerry. 

Without answering him, save by a smile, Robin 
crossed the room and sat down at the instrument. 
All grew quiet as they waited, and for the second 
time that evening there was no other sound in the 
room than the ticking of the clock and the murmur 
of the flames that wreathed Jerry’s backlog. 

“Shall I light the lamps now?” asked Don, as he 
stood by his sister’s side. 

But Robin shook her head. “I don’t need them, 
dear.” 

Then, very softly and tenderly she touched the 
ivory keys that had lain silent so long. And as 


282 


WHAT ROBIN DID THEN 


the simple, familiar, old-time melody filled the quiet, 
fire-lit room, there was not one among her listeners 
who questioned that Robin had chosen the song of 
all most fitted to the time and place. 

It was Larry’s sweet, cracked old voice that first 
took up the words, and one by one the others joined 
softly in the refrain: — 

^^^Home — home — 

Sweet, sweet home! 

Be it ever so humble, 

There’s no place like home!”’ 

And as they sang, the mellow glow of the fire 
rested warmly on the faces of young and old ; touched 
with mildness and benignity the stern features of 
Great-grandfather Sturtevandt; and ever returned 
to play lovingly about the two beautiful portraits that 
smiled quietly down from their golden frames, seem- 
ing to breathe a voiceless blessing on this home that 
had been founded among the western hills, and on 
all who lingered to-night by its glowing hearth, in 
the light of the pitch-pine fire. 

THE END 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



ODDEHSEmaS. 



